Aftermath: Oblivion
by InkRoze
Summary: Nineteen years after the Promised Day, something new- something evil- stirs in Amestris. Now, thanks to a certain Flame Alchemist, it's up to an alchemy-phobic soldier, a teenager with unusual strength, an Ishvalan alchemist, and a cultured ex-homunculus to stop it; with maybe a little help from old friends. [Eventual Selim/OC]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, there! This is my first FanFic, but I'm not going to beg you to be nice. I hope you enjoy this! Just one thing before you start, though: ****I'm not used to the formatting yet, so there might be a few weird spacing issues and such.**

Thanks,

**~InkRoze**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, but I _do_ own my OCs.**

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"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

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_So, this is where I'm supposed to be, Ishvala? The people here are crazy, money-loving hounds, that will break people's limbs just to fix them again. Are you sure you're omniscient? _Asher Reed thought somewhat sacrilegiously, as he surveyed the dusty landscape through his dark-tinted goggles. He had been nearly everywhere possible in his nineteen, almost twenty years of life, from Central and East City to Xing and Drachma, but he'd never felt as at home as he did here. Rush Valley, the Boom Town of the Broken Down. He grinned as he took in more of the scenery. One of the things he loved about traveling was seeing how places differed over time. Rush Valley had changed a lot in the five-plus years since he'd been there. Some buildings had been renovated, there looked to be more people, and the number of automail shops had increased at least twofold.

Even in his hometown of West City, Asher had never fit anywhere. The closest he had ever felt to belonging, was here, where no one judged you for your race, your past, your gender, or even for your missing limbs. All types were welcomed, as long as you had money. Inwardly sighing, he stepped off of the train platform and toward the small town, rubbing the crick in his neck. Asher might have loved traveling, but when it came to transportation...

He _hated_ trains.

It felt like his entire life was spent either walking, or on grimy, uncomfortable seats. He figured by the time he was thirty, he'd have a permanent mark on his cheek from falling asleep against the train windows. Shifting his worn briefcase to his other hand, Asher shook his shoulders and set off for the centre of town. He passed countless automail shops, some for repair, some for spare parts, and some for the surgery in the first place; that particular trade declared by the red cross painted on their doors.

Locke's, Kelly's Automail, Rockbell Automail Repair, Blood and Guts Automail Fitting, Last Hope Spares, the list went on and on. But none of these shops were the one he was looking for. He turned down yet another street, ignoring the stares his odd appearance attracted. His stark white hair that stood out against his tanned skin, his long white coat with a high collar that nearly covered his mouth, and tinted goggles completed the odd ensemble. It wasn't just his clothes, or the way his hair was spiked, or the little bit of metal poking out from underneath his unusual eyewear. It wasn't because of his insignia, which appeared on various parts of his jacket. It was because, even with the precaution of wearing goggles, they knew his eyes were red.

_Geez, you'd think these people had never seen an Ishvalan before_, he thought, honestly indifferent. He didn't care if someone, or even a lot of someones, stared. His people had all but died, and only recently was seeing Ishvalans a semi-regular occurrence. He smirked inwardly as another thought hit him, the urge to let it show causing a corner of his mouth to twitch. He wasn't a true Ishvalan. He only looked like them, and believed in the same god. Maybe those people had a right to stare.

Asher dragged himself out of his thoughts when he noticed the store in front of him. There was no sign on the small shop, except for a card reading, '"Closed" in the front window. A large picture window showed nothing but a shelf with parts and gears and half-made models stacked haphazardly on it, and only darkness beyond that. The teenager was surprised that he was able to find it without getting lost, with all the changes made to the town; but he was never lost, his keen sense of direction a useful tool in his travels. Ignoring the closed sign, Asher pushed on the door, mildly surprised that it wasn't locked.

"Hello?" he called, not so much cautious as he was hesitant. He hadn't been back in more than five years. No phone calls, no letters, not even a representative to say he was still alive. Even though he wasn't the kind of person to keep in contact- _ever_- Asher was toast, to put it kindly. His own nervousness made him uneasy.

"Who's there?" came a gruff female voice from further into the store, "Can't you read? We're closed!" A small, aging woman appeared from behind a stack of metal scrap, a frown causing the creases in her face to deepen. Asher was hit with a wave of remorse as he took in her long gray hair with streaks of stark white pulled back into a ponytail, her faded green eyes flashing in anger at the supposed intrusion. She halted when she noticed Asher. He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with her shocked gaze.

"Hey, Krystal. It's me. I... kinda need a tune up," Asher said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Reed?" She asked, confirming his last name, her voice still stern but now carried a tone of surprise. Asher was about to reply, when she spoke again, grinding her words out through gritted teeth.

"It's Miss Gardener to you, Reed," she hissed, advancing on him with a deadly-looking screwdriver clasped in her right fist. "You only now come back? You've neglected maintenance for five years and seven months? I bet you didn't even oil it like I told you to! I bet the only reason you even set foot in here was because something's wrong with it!" Asher backed into the closed door, eyeing the sharp screwdriver. He wasn't intimidated by the older woman, but he knew her potential for violence, and working with metal her whole life certainly strengthened her arms. Despite her short stature, she was probably almost stronger than he was.

"You kept track of the months?" he wondered aloud.

"Of course I did! It was my best work! I'd like to see those newborns manage that kind of detail!" she barked.

"I apologise, Kry- Miss Gardener. I meant to come back sooner-"

"No you didn't," she muttered, her voice softening slightly. "Don't bother lying to an old woman. I don't have the patience for it." She stared at him for a while longer, neither saying a word.

"Alright," she said, breaking the silence. "Have a seat in the back. But one smart word from you, and you're out on the street, begging for an engineer with even half my talent." _No one ever said she wasn't proud of her profession_, Asher thought, nearly scurrying to the back room. Asher Reed never scurried, but in her case- he'd make an exception. He sat on a discarded chair, making room for himself by shoving some papers and metal bits onto the room's only table.

Krystal Gardener gathered some of her smaller tools with the ghost of a grin on her face. She had missed the half-Ishvalan, and hadn't realised how much. _Five years_. Five long years of her waiting. Krystal had kept all the emotions plaguing her from her face; the shock, the affection, the anger, and finally, the hurt. He hadn't even called once. Now, he was back, in a white coat and outlandish goggles, of all things. She straightened out her mouth, and entered the small examining room turned storage room. He was waiting, playing with his fingers in a peculiar fashion, almost as if he was tracing shapes on them. She remembered the habit from when he was younger. _He must have never grown out of it_, she thought.

Krystal set the tools down on the now crowded table with a dull _thunk_, and faced Asher. He looked up at her. She clicked her tongue, and the young man carefully pulled his goggles off, the action almost rusty, like he hadn't removed his eyewear for a long, long time. He set the goggles in his lap, and revealed his haunting, blood-red eyes, or eye, to be more accurate. Krystal ignored the unusual iris colour of his right eye, and instead, focused on his left eye. Or lack of one. The dull metal shine of automail flashed back at her, shining even in the dull light. She examined it closely. The glowing red "iris" seemed a little faded, but the quarter-mask-like plate of metal surrounding it was gleaming as if it were new. The metal mesh that replaced the "white" of his automail eye looked a little blackened. He _had_ been oiling it. The automail engineer bit back a pleased grin and continued her inspection, prodding a screw here and there.

"You've taken pretty good care of it, I'll admit," she muttered gruffly, "But what else have you been doing? This mechanism is all out of whack, like it's been modified..." She stopped, giving him a hard look. "You haven't been seeing another mechanic, _have you_?" Her aura darkened. Asher's eyes- automail and all- widened, eliciting a soft series of clicks from the mechanics.

"No! I wouldn't trust anyone else with this. I... Well... I... Oh, Ishvala!" he sighed, annoyed at his stuttering. Under Krystal's watchful eye, Asher shrugged off his coat while lifting an object out of his pocket. Silver flashed in his hand, offset by his dark skin. Krystal blinked, looking at it impassively.

"So. You finally did it. I figured it would never happen. I figured someone would stop you," she said almost dully. Asher fingered the silver pocketwatch and then returned it to his pocket.

"I thought so too. But for some reason... I was let in. They accepted me. I believe it was the Furher's doing."

"A State Alchemist. I knew it was you, Asher Reed. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, I hear things. An Ishvalan State Alchemist; the first, and more than likely the last," Krystal said in a dry tone. "You caused quite the stir, but for some reason, no one will talk about it. No one's ever seen much of you. Now lean over, and let me adjust this." Asher complied, wincing at the sharp sting and sudden blindness on his left side as she removed his "eye". He was left with a metal socket and some hanging wires.

"Well, most full-blooded Ishvalans that find out don't approve," Asher conceded, still playing with his fingers. "They make it quite clear, that someone with Ishvalan roots- even a half-breed- shouldn't perform alchemy. They say..." he paused, and attempted to stifle the wave of rage that rose up in him. "They say that I'm a disgrace, a dishonor, blasphemous, and worse, even." He shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "But I know better. It's the disregard of my faith that really gets to me, not the insults. I figured, after so much time, Ishvalans would be at least a little more accepting of alchemy. The fact that the Furher has been so slow in making progress probably doesn't help much, though." Krystal remained quiet throughout his mini-tirade. She just listened. To her, it seemed that he was letting out over five years of pent-up frustration. It was true, however. The Furher previous to Mustang had more pressing things on his mind than Ishval; such as cleansing the military of traitors and rebels, repairing the damage caused by the "Uprising" as it was now called, trying to remedy the recession that the Uprising had caused, and repelling invaders from Arugo and Creta that had tried to take advantage of Amestris's state of confusion.

Ishval just sort of... faded into the background. Until four years ago, when Mustang took office after Grumman's retirement, the Ishval situation had been put on a sort of hold, with only a few changes, including herding all of the refugee Ishvalans back to the deserted Ishval. The situation, however good the intentions might have been at first, hadn't helped Ishval's animosity toward the military in the least. The Ishvalan nation was simultaneously young, weathered, peaceful, and vengeful; full of either bitter Ishvalans who had been hardened by the Massacre, or young, inexperienced youth, brought up in a time of oppressed hardship. There was an age gap between the two, with hardly any Ishvalans between the ages of thirty and fifty-five. Now, with all other pressing matters addressed, Furher Mustang had been scrambling to make things right since his inauguration. But Krystal couldn't help but wonder; was it too late?

"It's been hard, Krystal," Asher continued, pulling Krystal from her thoughts, "Harder than I ever thought it would be. But... it's worth it. I have a few regrets, but in all, I'm confident in the path I took." Krystal didn't bother to correct him, and instead, gave him a hard look.

"What's your alias? Who are you working under? And how in the world did you manage to get time off to come here? Hang on, I need to... Ah." With a sharp twist of her screwdriver, the half-mask plate of metal came free.

"Ow!" Asher exclaimed, jerking back a bit.

"Quit being such a baby," Krystal huffed, and went back to fiddling with his automail eye. "Whatever you've done to it- which I assume is alchemy- you've messed up the alignment. Your vision has probably been off by a few millimetres. I'm surprised you can walk straight. Now answer my questions."

"My alias is the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist. A bit flashy for me, but it fits. I'm working directly under the Furher, but I'm not based in only one Headquarters. I actually have to report to him in two days. As for the time off? My situation is... special. I don't fit in at the office, normal civilians don't trust me, and the Furher participated in the Ishvalan Massacre. So, I travel. I do the dirty work. I'm given the cases that no one wants, from inspecting caverns at Briggs, to going after Arugian terrorists; anything that keeps me as far away from the military as possible. To be more specific, I am in the military without actually having much contact with it."

"And what does the Military get from this? It seems like you get the better part of the deal. The Furher is an Alchemist; he believes in equivalent exchange." Krystal looked Asher in his eye, cutting right to the heart of the problem. Asher was quiet for a long while, regarding her pale green irises.

"Besides the fact that he's trying to establish trust between Ishvalans and the Military, I do have my perks," he said with a slight grin, "Even though my alchemy isn't combat-based. But I think an Ishvalan State Alchemist isn't really the best way to inspire trust, considering their view of Alchemy. But as much as I can't stand him, I trust him. He knows what he's doing. Even now, over three decades after the Massacre, he's still trying to correct his mistakes. I admire that." Krystal didn't comment. She could tell he was hiding something from her. Something important. But she only narrowed her eyes for a second before she continued to work on his automail in silence.

Asher noted her suspicious glance, and kept his face emotionless. Talking about his position in the Amestrian Military always made him uncomfortable. He waited patiently as Krystal finished repairing his automail. She meticulously replaced the parts, ignoring his flinching when she returned his eye to its rightful place and screwed in the metal mesh. The engineer finished by polishing the metal with an oily cloth. She took her time, a feeling of foreboding creeping up on her. Asher shifted slightly, itching to get going. He was never one to stay in one place for too long.

"Well. There you are, Asher Reed. All fixed," she said in a gruff bark, all traces of her serious side vanishing. "If you use your alchemy on it too much, you'll have to drag your rear end back here in two years or so. I _would_ be impressed that it lasted that long, but it _is _my work after all." Asher couldn't help but smile at his automail mechanic.

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a salute.

"Don't get smart with me, young man." Asher stood, donned his jacket, and made his way to the front of the shop. The alchemist put his hand on the door before he stopped, and turned around.

"I almost forgot," he said sheepishly, digging back into his pocket. Asher came out with a book, a couple of folded bits of paper, and finally, a bag of cens. "Payment. How much do I owe?"

"38,000 cens. A special deal, just for you," the mechanic said without missing a beat. He handed the correct amount over, and replaced the items in his jacket.

"Thanks, Krystal. I'll- I missed you," he said. Krystal noticed his slip.

"Don't forget to call. And you visit again soon, you hear?"

"I... I will," he said, smiling. Krystal approached him, and in a rare gesture of affection, reached up to the full extent of her five-foot-two frame, and placed a hand on his cheek.

"I told you, Reed. Don't bother lying to an old woman." With that, she turned and entered her shop, her gray and white-streaked ponytail swinging behind her. The door shut with a bang, and the "closed" sign swayed.

That was the last time Asher ever saw the mechanic.

With a sad, crooked smile, Asher turned his back on the unnamed shop, and headed for his second destination. The State Alchemist wasn't just in Rush Valley for a tune-up. In fact, he hadn't even planned on it in the first place. But Ishvala had managed to work Krystal into Asher's busy schedule, and for that he was grateful. It was nice to see her again. The feeling was foreign to Asher, but he admitted that he didn't mind it. Turning his thoughts to his mission, the young alchemist set off down the street. A contact of his in Central had revealed the location of an alchemy-based gold-smuggling ring in Rush Valley. Asher smirked in anticipation.

He trusted his contact. In the State Alchemist's many years of traveling, the contact was the only person Asher ever kept in constant touch with, besides the Furher; and in those many years, the contact had never been wrong.

Not even once.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! This chapter is unfortunately short, but the next one is incredibly long. I just didn't want to make this chapter part of Chapter 1 because of how long it already was. So, Enjoy!**

****~ InkRoze****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, but I DO own Asher, my other OCs, and my version of Selim.**

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"What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lives within us."

- David Henry Thoreau

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Selim laced his fingers under his chin, and, leaning forward, rested his elbows on the arms of his comfortable chair. He stared out into space, thinking, his low, ebony ponytail falling from his shoulder to trail down the back of his crisp black suit. The man across from him shifted a little on a black leather couch, not sure how to respond. He had employed Mr. Bradley- Master Bradley, really, the boy was 19- because he was told by a trusted colleague that Selim was the best. But currently, all the so-called detective had done, was ask him short, pointless questions, and stare into space with his cold, deep purple eyes. The man was beginning to fidget out of irritation.

"Mr. Biard. Please, sit still," Master Bradley intoned dully. Irked by the fact that this _boy_- whether Selim was his last hope or not- was telling him what to do, James Biard stiffened. He was about to respond, when Master Bradley suddenly stood. James shut his open mouth.

"Thank you for entrusting this case to me, Mr. Biard," Selim said emotionlessly. "I assure you, by six tomorrow, I will have caught your thief, and recovered your mother's jewels; give or take about an hour for the military's cooperation. Good day." With that, Selim opened the door, ushered Mr. Biard out of his study, through the hall, and out the Bradley estate's front doors. As the doors closed behind him, James blinked. What had just happened? Unsure of what else to do, he picked up his bag and discarded hat, and made his way back home. James Baird hoped and prayed that Master Bradley could do what he said he could. Those jewels meant everything to him.

On the other side of the door, Selim Bradley was leaning against the mahogany wood, giving the wall across from him a dark look. A maid, who had unfortunately decided to walk by, could have sworn the plaster was peeling under his gaze. With a sigh, Selim stood straight, and walked back to his study with clipped, measured steps. His head maid was waiting for him with a tray of tea. She was a middle-aged woman, with blond hair, and kind gray eyes. Despite her age of forty-one, she still looked quite young, and had a pretty face. She kept quiet until he settled in his favourite black leather armchair.

"Master Selim? Would you like some tea?" she asked. Selim waited until she had shut the door. Then he relaxed, all of the tension from the day draining into the worn leather. The head maid noticed the stress lines in his face. Not deep, but on a 19 year old; too deep.

"No, June, but thank you. It is alright to talk now. I doubt my client is still here after that abrupt dismissal, and the other maids are in the kitchen." June King gave an exasperated sigh and put her tray of tea down.

"Selim, should you really be straining yourself right now? You had an attack only yesterd-"

"I am aware, June, thank you," he interrupted. She gave him a stern look. There was silence for a long while as June poured him tea. Not uncomfortable silence; there was just nothing to be said. She handed him a cup of Xingese smoke tea, his favourite. He adored the smoky taste, as unusual as it was.

"So who was the thief? Where are the jewels? And how in the world did you figure that out without leaving the room?" June asked. It was a tradition of theirs. After every client, June would pour his tea, ask him what the result of the case was and how he had figured it out.

"Simple, really; it was the gardener. How cliché. The jewels are more than likely in the gardener's apartment. The damning evidence was in the staff files and Mr. Can't-Sit-Still-For-Five-Seconds' account." June spoke before he could continue.

"Mr. Can't-Sit-Still-For-Five-Seconds? That's a bit of a mouthful, even for your nicknames," his surrogate mother said, amused.

"It suits him well," Selim muttered darkly, and June was reminded of the fact that, even though he acted otherwise, Master Bradley was still just a teenage boy.

"Well, now that that's sorted. Would you like me to send the message?"

"Yes, please. Tell him to make sure he isn't seen. It would ruin everything."

"I always do, and he hasn't been noticed yet. I swear, Selim, when the Furher resigns, it will be your fault."

"Well," Selim said, with an eerie smile, "Something to look forward to." June resisted the urge to shiver, slightly worried for the sanity of the Furher of Amestris.

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello again! Hope you enjoy the chapter. I really like this one.**

****~ InkRoze****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. But I do own Asher, my version of Selim, Jack, Kate, and my other OCs.**

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"If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living."

- Gail Sheehy

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Furher Roy Mustang was not happy. If he were any angrier, smoke would have been coming out of his ears; alchemy or no alchemy. He gripped the paper in his hand as if it were a physical neck he could wring, crumpling it to near illegibility, his charcoal eyes smoldering. He was seriously considering snapping the note into oblivion. It would only take a second, and WHOOM! Instant ashes and one less headache. But he couldn't. It was evidence. And this made him all the angrier. Which is what poor Jack Mustang was faced with when she walked, unsuspecting, into her father's office. The second she took in her father's face, she turned full around and tried to walk as softly as she could back the way she came. She breathed quietly, hoping against hope that her father hadn't seen her.

"Jacqueline Maes Edana Mustang," he called in his deep baritone, "Stop right there." Jack did.

"I... I have some reports for you, Dad," she said cautiously. With a deep sigh, the Furher tossed the now-crumpled note into a black box on the far left of his desk. It was filled with like pieces of paper, similar in every way, except the amount of writing and the extent to which they were crumpled. The notes near the bottom of the box were less twisted.

"He left you another one, huh?" the seventeen-year-old asked sympathetically.

"Every time," Roy muttered angrily, "_Every time_, it's sitting there. Sitting there! Like it was waiting all night! On _my_ chair! It's an affront to my person, my staff, my position, my competence, my-" Jack let her father rant, tuning him out. Every time it was the same. Who was the mysterious note-leaver? Each glaringly white note would have a time, a place, a name, and a crime written on it in the same, unbearably neat, yet unusual printing. At first, the notes were ignored, simply thought of as a security risk. If someone could put a note in the Furher's office, why not a bomb? Or a gun? But then a criminal was captured, seemingly by coincidence, where the latest note had specified. Even the name was the same. The notes were paid more attention. Again and again, criminals were apprehended, and again and again, the notes had told them where to go. They were never signed, and never said anything else. Just a time, place, name, and crime. And no one had ever seen someone leaving them.

Once, when Roy was beyond fed up with the notes- something that Jack had never really understood- he, Breda, and Fuery had stayed up for two days straight, hiding in the Furher's office, waiting to catch the note-leaver. Somehow, sometime during the second night, and despite the fact that three men were watching closely, a note had appeared on the Furher's chair. Needless to say, her father was less than thrilled. It had taken both her and Riza to calm him down, and half of his office was still burnt to a crisp. The note from that night was never seen again, evidence or not.

Jack would have written it off as someone in the office, playing a prank, but every time, the note was correct; not even one misspelled name. _Well, one thing's for sure: whoever's leaving the notes is OCD_, Jack thought, wrinkling her nose at the thought of neat handwriting. Her handwriting was terrible, as all her "teachers" had never ceased to remind her. She had just stuck her tongue out at them. Being "Office-Schooled", as her father put it, had its perks.

"-and I will not stand for this insolence, that little stuck-up, know-it-all, so-sure-of-himself-"

"Or herself," Jack interjected. Her father just ignored her.

"-conniving, second-rate, thrice-cursed-" He was a little less colourful in his name-calling today. Maybe because he knew Jack was standing right there, or maybe- and more likely- because he knew Riza was somewhere outside, and didn't approve of cursing in front of Jack.

"Well, he does help, Dad. Aren't you happy? You get the credit," she reminded him.

"No! I am not happy! It's like he's _mocking_ me! I-" _And off he goes again_, Jack thought, bored. Just then, Riza walked in, carrying a stack of papers. The general, who was actually more of a secretary to the Furher, noticed Jack standing there, giving her a pleading look. Shifting her papers to one arm, Riza brought up her gun and fired three times. Jack didn't even flinch. Roy, however, froze, halting mid-tirade. One shot had entered the far wall millimetres from his nose, and the other two mere hair-lengths away from either side of his head.

"Shut up, Sir," Riza Mustang said calmly, holstering her gun. "You can't do anything about it, and acting like Edward on a short rant won't help in the least. Here's more of your paperwork. Jack, please put those on your father's desk." Roy's eyebrow twitched at the Edward comment, and sank into his chair at the mention of more paperwork.

"Riza, I told you, call me Roy. For _twenty years_, I've told you!"

"And for twenty years, I've told _you_: we're at work, sir. Now do your paperwork."

"We're married, da-" Roy paused, seeing Riza's warning look, "-rn it." He finished.

"Nice save," Jack smirked. Riza just rolled her cinnamon eyes, set her papers down in the IN box, and retuned outside. Jack turned back to her father, who was breathing a sigh of relief.

"I swear, even after eighteen years of marriage, she still terrifies me," the Furher of Amestris breathed.

"And she knows it, too," his daughter replied, still smirking. Jack took the note from her father's hand and draped herself over his chair, somehow looking like a typical teenager even in the military's crisp blue uniform and skirt. She flicked her long black braid over her shoulder and squinted at the square of paper. It was barely legible from being pseudo-strangled, but she could still make it out.

_Tuesday, 10:47pm.  
>17658 Williams Ave.<br>Michael Reynolds  
>Jewel Thief<em>

"I don't know why he-"

"Or she," Roy interjected with a smirk of his own.

"_Or she_," Jack amended, glaring, "Doesn't just send the note to a Warrant Officer or something. Why you? Why does the Furher have to know about a jewel thief?"

"I don't think it's about the crime. He's mocking me. It's not about knowing a criminal's location, or a crime committed. It's about me knowing that he exists. That's he's so obviously smarter than me; than the military. He's demanding attention," Roy stated calmly, seeming to have quieted down.

"Then why don't you just offer him a job? He seems to want one."

"I did. I left a note on my chair, and the next morning, it was gone, replaced by the usual one. He doesn't want a job. He wants attention."

"Or, maybe he just wants to bug you," Jack offered seriously.

"No, I don't think that's it," the Furher said dryly.

"I do. Think about it. He wants attention, just like a kid. He's obviously smart, and instead of getting paid for it like he could, he just flaunts it. It's totally something I would do." Jack looked up at the lack of response. He was giving her a strange look.

"It _is_ like something you would do."

"Ah! No, no! It's not me, I swear!" Jack backpedaled.

"That's not what I meant," Roy muttered. "I know you're not; we made sure of that when this began." Jack's mouth dropped open. He had been investigating his_ own daughter_? Well, she couldn't exactly blame him. She didn't have the best track record when it came to pranks and the like. What did bother her, though, was the fact that she didn't know about it. She knew _everything _that went on in Central Headquarters, from who was dating whom, to which serial killer they were investigating next. Roy ignored her shocked face.

"What I meant was; maybe he _is_ a kid. Or an adult with a child's mentality," he muttered, noticing a figure at the door, "There's plenty of those." Jack grinned, turning her charcoal eyes- identical to her father's- toward the doorway. Colonel Havoc was standing there, looking slightly miffed, as if he wasn't sure whether the insult was directed at him or not.

"Uncle Havoc!" Jack squealed, rushing over for a hug. Her curvy, five-foot-four frame slammed into him full force.

"Hey, Little Miss Spitfire," he laughed, trying to keep his balance. Havoc was by far her favourite "uncle," followed by Fuery at a close second, even though he could be a bit of a goody-two shoes at times. Jack pouted up at him.

"I hate that nickname."

"I could call you Jaqueline instead," he threatened. Jack quickly let go.

"Never mind." Roy and Havoc both laughed, before the Furher turned to his subordinate.

"What is it you wanted, Havoc?" The Colonel ran a hand through his already graying blond hair.

"I needed to run a few things by you- it involves Al. Ed would have come, but, and I quote, 'He doesn't want to spend one more second with that 'Flame Pony' than he has to. He spent too many years of his life with you ordering him around- and now that he's finally out of the military- isn't about to make a trip all the way from Rush Valley to go back to it.' Needless to say, I went instead. Personally, I think he just doesn't want to drag his butt away from Winry." Jack stifled a snicker. Roy just stared at Havoc flatly through his "message", and sighed.

"Alright then. Jack? You mind giving us a few minutes?" he asked tiredly. Jack shrugged.

"Sure. I was going to head home anyway. Bye Dad, bye Uncle Havoc."

"Alright. Be safe, and tell your mother where you're going."

"See ya, Little Flame." Jack stuck her tongue out at Havoc and left, closing the door behind her. She was tempted for a second to eavesdrop, but she was tired, and knew that her mother was around there somewhere. For some reason, her father was very secretive about anything that involved the Elrics. All she knew was that Alphonse was an Amestrian alchemist centred in Xing, and had a brother named Edward, who used to be in the military. For whatever reason, even though he wasn't in the Amestris military, Alphonse had a sort of connection to her father that made the accomplished alchemist his business.

Whatever the reason, Jack didn't know much about them, and her father was determined to keep it that way. Retrieving her stuff from under her "desk" of sorts- more like an honorary table-type thing- she shrugged on her black bag with one strap. The other had long since torn off. Waving goodbye to Fuery, Breda, and Meyers, the only three still working at 10pm, she headed to the locker room to change. She discarded the dull blue uniform for her usual attire; a light gray military-style jacket over a navy blue tube-top, dark gray pants, and black flats. She examined herself in the mirror with a critical eye. Not bad- but maybe... She took out her braid, letting her ebony hair flow in waves to the small of her back. She gave her reflection a Mustang-worthy, dazzling smile. Nodding, she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and began the long walk home.

A shadowed figure watched Jack leave Central Headquarters. They followed behind her almost silently, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Jack paused at a street corner and dug through her black bag, oblivious to her surroundings. Grinning, revealing startlingly white teeth, the figure lunged toward Jack... and hugged her so tightly she thought she was going to snap in half. Jack gasped for breath, unable to break the incredibly strong hold.

"K-Kate! Can't... breathe!" she managed. The figure let go, half a smile and one ice-blue eye visible through the curtain of shaggy blonde hair that covered part of her face. Why Kate chose to keep her bangs that way was beyond Jack. Didn't they obstruct her vision?

"Sorry, Jackie. I just missed ya. Haven't seen you all day," the girl said, still smiling. She fell into step with Jack, putting her hands on her head and stretching. She was an inch taller than Jack at five-foot-five, but quite unlike the black-haired girl, had the appearance of a sweet-tempered twelve year old, especially with her wide eyes. In reality, it couldn't be further from the truth. Kate was sixteen, and had an incredibly bad attitude to match her mouth. She was also Jack's best friend, and the only friend close to her age.

"What did I tell you about that? Every time!" Jack muttered, sounding like her father, "Please just call me Jack."

"You're such a boy!" Kate snipped, "You hang around the military guys too much. You should go by your girly name. It suits your figure better than 'Jack' does."

"Kate!"

"Alright, alright. I'm just sayin'. If you have the goods, you shouldn't hide 'em. How else are you gonna get a boyfriend?"

"Kaitlin!" Jack shouted again, this time, because the small blonde wasn't watching where she was going. Kate ran right into a metal support beam, propped against a building under repair. The slab of iron overbalanced and fell forward, threatening to crush the girl. Before Jack could even yell, Kate put an arm out and caught it with one hand. All ten feet of it. There was one more thing about Kate...

"Kaitlin Leonore Armstrong! Watch where you're going; you could have hurt someone!" Jack admonished, crossing her arms. Kate was an Armstrong- albeit an unusual one- but she still held some of the family's characteristics, including the hair curl at the end of her long bangs, her incredible strength, and, yes, the "passed down for generations" spiel. She was also a hopeless romantic at heart, though she'd never admit it to anyone but Jack.

"Oh, gimme a break, Spitfire," Jack's eyebrow twitched at her nickname, "There's no one around. It's late. Only crazies like you are out right now. And besides, the art of heavy lifting has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations," Kate said, completely serious. Jack sighed, used to Kate's lineage occasionally peeking through her punk exterior.

"Crazies like me?" Jack asked in mock-hurt.

"Yep! But don't you worry; you have the strongest girl in Central right here." Kate pointed to herself with a grin as Jack rolled her eyes.

"I have my guns too, Kate. I'm not exactly worried about 'crazies' as you call them."

"See that's what I mean! Who in their right mind would let a teenager conceal-carry?"

"The Furher of Amestris," Jack said flatly. Kate laughed. They were quiet for a while, and Jack's hand strayed to her bag, where she kept one of her pistols, as well as other "items of mass destruction" as Kate put it. The other gun was tucked into her boot. Jack turned to Kate, trying to distract herself from thinking about the dark corners of Central's streets.

"Wanna sleep over? Mum and Dad are working late, so I don't think they'll care," Jack offered.

"Sure, but I have to go to school tomorrow, though, unlike you. Lucky dog," Kate whined.

"I'm not sure if being office-schooled is any better, Kate. I pass all the state tests well enough, but sometimes I wonder if my education isn't flawed." Jack paused, remembering some of her rather... unorthodox lessons. "Or if I maybe know too much," she muttered. She shuddered a little at the memory of Fuery and Havoc trying to figure out how to give a twelve-year-old Jack "The Talk". Not one of her Father's best ideas. Luckily, Riza had stepped in to rescue her before she was too emotionally scarred.

"Your Dad doesn't think so, obviously," Kate reasoned. "Or he'd have sent you to school."

"You know why I don't go to school. You of all people should understand, with your father who he is."

"Yeah, you're right," Kate said, seemingly in thought.

"It has definitely caused me trouble, being a Mustang. Remember that bully in 4th grade?" Jack asked flatly. Kate grinned.

"He was toast, and your Dad ate him for breakfast with a nice jam spread. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so scared, and probably never will again."

"And that, Miss Armstrong, is why I'll never have a boyfriend. Ever. If he even gets over the name, he'll still have half the military after him, guns and alchemy included. I grew up in it, and quite a lot of them are fond of me. So will you give up already?" Jack didn't seem all that depressed about it, something Kate couldn't even fathom. No boyfriend?_ Ever_? The blond thought for a long while before giving Jack her trademark evil grin.

"I still think you're lucky. You don't have to deal with idiots- at least, idiots your own age- or bullies. And besides, none of my teachers are anywhere near as hot as Lieutenant Meyers, _or_ your fath-"

"Kate!"

"Relax, I'm just kidding," Kate said with a shameless grin.

"No you're not! You're boy-crazy, Armstrong."

"Only to make up for your lack of it."

"That's it! Conversation: over," Jack demanded, walking a few steps ahead. She looked back every once and a while to make sure Kate was still following her. The blonde was by no means quiet, but her all-black clothing and cap, except for her white suspenders, made it hard for Jack to spot her in the dark. They made it to the Mustang's apartments without further incident, and Kate crashed at her usual spot on the couch. Jack smiled. She loved her life, and wouldn't want it any other way. Little did she know, that her perfect world could be turned inside-out by two unsuspecting young men.

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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello readers!**

**Thanks so much for your reviews and favourites! I love this story, and although I'd still write it without reviews, they make me happy! So yeah. Thanks again!**

**Enjoy this little Asher snapshot.**

****~ InkRoze****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters; but I **_**do**_** own Asher and my other OCs.**

**P.S: Drachman Steel is the FMA version of Damascus Steel. If you have some time, you should look it up. It's really neat.**

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"If you think it's expensive to hire a professional to do the job, wait until you hire an amateur."

- Red Adair

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Asher decided that a change of appearance would probably be the best bet for getting within three feet of the gold-smuggling ring. He exchanged- temporarily of course- his white trench coat for a black one, his usual gray shirt for a tight-fitting red one, his goggles for dark glasses- which were incredibly expensive- dyed his stark-white hair a particularly greasy shade of black, and slicked it back. He checked his reflection in a shop window, enjoying the realigned vision of his automail eye, but not enjoying the view. _Ew_, he thought, fighting the urge to wrinkle his nose,_ Ishvala, the things I do for the military. I wonder if maybe I should have gone my own way, no? I might not have the protection or the rank, but I would have avoided looking like a fool_. Asher sighed, and checked the two metal plates he used as a crude vambrace; making sure they were securely strapped to his forearm.

If you ignored the ridiculous hair, he looked like he could be from the Eastern Desert, or possibly from one of the smaller countries neighboring Amestris. But unless he removed his glasses, no one should suspect him of being Ishvalan, even a half one. Though, Asher knew he'd inherited more than just Ishvalan aspects. Ishvalans were proud of their race, and that included their unique looks. It went against his instincts to hide what he looked like. But for the sake of the mission, he swallowed his pride and continued on toward his original destination: an abandoned automail shop the smuggling ring was using as a base.

According to his contact, the smuggling-ring was located in the eastern side of Rush Valley, where the cliffs seemed to loom over the growing town. On top of it all, there were rumors of alchemy involved. His mission was to break up the ring, permanently, with whatever force necessary, but without killing anyone. He knew that there was no way this was going to be easy. If it were easy, the military wouldn't have sent him here. He went over his plan in his mind, trying to figure out where it could go wrong. There were plenty of ways it could backfire, actually, but he tried to ignore the bad feeling he was getting about this. _Well, Ishvala_, he thought when he saw the abandoned shop come into view, _Give me luck. Because you only know, I need it._ As soon as he took in the "abandoned" shop, Asher immediately knew that a disguise wasn't going to help him in the least. Neither was his lame, "I just wandered in here by mistake!" back up excuse. He would have to go by his first plan.

With all the… _modifications_… they had made, there was no way the smuggling ring could possibly keep up the shop's appearance of being abandoned. He ignored the keep out signs, avoided the barbed wire, and ducked out of the two, practically sleeping guards' sight, slowly making his way up to the shop's front door. Now all he had to do was get inside, and find the gold or the alchemist. Whatever came first. The door creaked open, and Asher entered the building, his footsteps silent. The inside of the garage was what he'd expected from a pseudo-abandoned automail shop. There were bits of metal scattered everywhere, dim corners lit by a single naked light bulb, the smell of old oil and grease hanging densely in the air, and dust collecting on nearly everything. Everything except… Asher grinned, following the trail of dozens of footsteps to the back of the store. He stopped in front of a door. It was locked, but the footsteps unmistakably disappeared behind the old wood.

Asher frowned, and reached into his coat, drawing out one of his knuckle blades. The pair of knuckle blades were one of his prized possessions, made of Drachman Steel, an extremely rare, incredibly strong, metal. They consisted of a wooden, decorated handle, and a long, curved blade that arced over his knuckles. Carefully, Asher angled his blade so it fit inside the crack in the door, manoeuvering the blade to gain the proper leverage. With a sharp twist, Asher slid the blade down, and the door clicked open. He _could _have just kicked the door down, but it would have caused too much noise. Opening the door revealed a long, narrow hallway illuminated by dim electric lighting. If it were any darker, he would have been forced to remove his glasses. Asher drew his other blade, and cautiously stepped forward.

He hated hallways, almost as much as trains.

There was no place to hide, no place to run besides forward, and not much room to move around, if he needed to fight. Asher wasn't talented at close-combat, and though he could get by, tried to avoid it if he could. The hallway came to a sudden stop at yet another door, but this one wasn't locked. Asher slowly eased it open, and peeked inside. The room suddenly opened up into a large cavern. _They must have dug into the rock face!_ Asher thought, almost admiringly. _Smart_. The apex of the cavern was high, at least twenty feet, and the vast space was lit by electric lights hooked up to a circuit box. Crates and crates of what Asher guessed was gold, were stacked against the domed walls of the cave, and rolls of canvas and tarps were scattered across the floor. But the strangest thing about the room was the pile of stone shoved to one side.

The large room was also occupied by about a dozen different men, who all seemed to be working. They were directed by an average-looking blond man. _The boss? Is he the alchemist?_ The chances were high. Asher took another good look around the cavern, noting the uniformity of it all, and the overall look of a well-oiled machine. _This must be where they make the gold_, Asher concluded. He had found the centre of operations. _Now_, he thought with an almost wicked smirk, _how to destroy it_. His thoughts were interrupted by an iron grip suddenly clamping down on his shoulder, and spinning him around. Asher faced the man, his fingers tightening on the dual blades. He was at least six-foot-two, and was the usual Amestrian colouring of blonde hair, blue eyes. He was frowning at Asher, and fingering the gun slung across his shoulders, as if he was itching to train it on the intruder.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his tone malicious.

"Crap," Asher muttered, and tried to twist away, but the man was stronger than he was. He'd have to use force.

How unprofessional.

"Hey! Sit still!"

"No thanks." Asher finally yanked himself away from the man's steel grip, and slashed at him with one of his blades. The man backed up, and reached for his gun. Asher, without any other choice, turned and bolted for the door to the cavern room. He threw it open, ignoring the cries of surprise and the stares, and dashed for the crates at the side of the room. He grabbed a few of the crates as he went, tipping them over. The few men pursuing him tripped over them, crashing to the hard stone floor. Asher kept scrambling over the crates, but he couldn't help but notice the yellowish shine that peeked out of the gaps in the wood. Gold. So this is where they kept it, too. Asher was suddenly jerked off his feet by a hand on the back of his collar. He heard a good amount of stitches in his new coat rip.

"I got him, Bauer!" It was the same man from before, whom Asher decided to dub Thug #1. Asher struggled in the man's grip, twisting to slash at his captor with his blades, but two men grabbed each of his arms and held him back. His knuckle blades were confiscated, and he was dragged unceremoniously to the centre of the room, and made to face the boss. The blond man, who Asher assumed was Bauer, raised an eyebrow at his captive.

"Where did he come from?" Bauer demanded.

"I found him sneaking around in the hallway," said Thug #1.

"But, Bauer," another man spoke up, the one holding Asher's right arm, "What are we gonna do with him? He had to have seen the-" The man was promptly smacked in the back of the head by Thug #1.

"Idiot! Watch your mouth!" Bauer frowned at the two quarreling, and turned back to Asher. During the entire exchange, Asher had been studying the man before him, looking for any sign of alchemy he could find. Sure enough, the gold ring on his left hand was engraved with an alchemy array. Asher didn't have enough time to really study it, but he had been able to make out the vague array for metal-type alchemy. But what kind? _Gold_, he assumed, _Or maybe just metal in general_.

"Why are you here? What's your name? How did you even get in?" Bauer barked, clipping the ends of his sentences. _This guy has a control-complex_, Asher thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes behind his dark glasses.

"I heard you had a nice setup here, and I thought I'd give it a look," Asher said with a cocky grin. "I walked right in."

"You're pretty smug for having guns pointed at you, kid," Bauer remarked. Asher shrugged.

"You wanted to 'give it a look' you said?" Boss-man asked, narrowing his eyes. "Who did you hear about us from?"

"People around town. Don't get me wrong, but the whole getup you guys have outside doesn't exactly scream, 'This is abandoned! Do not notice!' you know?" The group exchanged looks.

"Who are you?" Bauer asked again, more forcefully this time. Asher didn't answer. There were a thousand aliases he had at his beck and call, but he knew that this man already didn't trust him. Bauer knew something was up, and no alias would be able to save him. These people would kill him to protect their lives and livelihood. Asher shook his head.

"So you manufacture and smuggle gold, hmmn? You do know that's illegal, right?"

"You do know we can kill you, right?" Bauer mocked.

"Of course. And add murder to your list of crimes? Are you an idiot, or something? You _trying_ to get yourself arrested?" Asher knew that it was a stupid move, getting them riled up, but he had to try and make them angry enough to make mistakes.

"Hey!" The one Thug #1 had called Idiot cuffed him hard on the back of the head, causing stars to dance across his vision. His glasses fell to the floor with a clatter.

Oops.

_Oh, Ishvala_, Asher thought in dismay, _I'm toast, aren't I? You have a place reserved for me up there? Because I'll see you in a few minutes. I hope heaven's all it's cracked up to be_. There was an obvious air of surprise in the room at the sight of Asher's automail eye. But it was nothing compared to the reaction when he slowly looked up at them, his real eye a solid, blood red.

"Ishvalan!" came the whispers and not-so-quiet curses. Bauer narrowed his eyes even more. There was something about this kid that was tugging at the back of his mind. Rumors, whispers, _something_.

"Boss!" Bauer looked over to the man holding Asher's right arm, Grant. The man held up a black book he had retrieved from Asher's pocket. Asher struggled, trying to jerk his arms free from Grant and Idiot's grasp. Bauer's eyes widened, and everything clicked into place. The rumors in the alchemist circles, his contacts in the military; everything. And the black book only confirmed his already growing suspicions. On the front of the book was a transmutation circle, embossed in silver. Bauer didn't recognise the symbol at all. _What kind of alchemy is that?_ he thought, bewildered.

"Who _are_ you?" Bauer demanded, even though he already knew.

"Alright, let's cut the crap, Bauer. You know why I'm here," Asher told him in a bored tone.

"You? _You're _from the Military? A _kid_! And an Ishvalan, no less!" Bauer laughed. "The first and only Ishvalan State Alchemist." Asher pursed his lips.

"You are aware of the rules of the state, concerning alchemy? State Alchemist or not, the rules are the same," he lectured. Bauer smirked.

"Obey the Military. Do not create gold. Do not perform human transmutation," the Amestrian recited.

"Looks like you're two for three, Bauer."

"And I'm supposed to care? If the Military is oh-so-concerned about my little operation, why does the state only send a puppy after me? Not even a purebred. A filthy, desert _mutt_," Bauer sneered. Asher's eyes were hard, but the corners of his mouth curled up in a chilling smirk. The sight of it on the Ishvalan's face sent involuntary shivers down the rouge alchemist's spine.

Then Asher full-out grinned.

"Alright, then. We'll play your way." With that, Asher lashed out, catching both his captors in the stomach with his elbows. As they doubled over in pain, he grabbed his book from the stunned Grant, and spun, snapping out his foot. The circuit box he had noticed upon entering crumpled, sparked, and the lights in the cavern went out. Darkness was complete. Bauer gritted his teeth in irritation, but he knew that if _he_ couldn't see, then neither could the Ishvalan.

Right?

This situation was too far out of hand. He had to stop the Ishvalan before- His thoughts were interrupted by a flash of blue, crackling light. _Alchemy? What-_

"Hey! Wha-"

"No! Help! Ah-"

"Augh!" Bauer heard his men begin to cry out, the sound of scuffles, and guns being fired around him as his men fell, one by one. He listened as his perfect, comfortable, meticulously guarded world began to crumble around him. Suddenly, the firing stopped, leaving a ringing echo in the air. He whipped around, trying to see through the relentless black. Listening intently, the rouge alchemist touched the ground with his ring hand, drawing out a long, dual-headed spear. With a practised movement, he spun the staff expertly, and began to back toward the wall of the cavern. How many men had cried out? How many did he have left? He had lost count. Six? Three? He couldn't remember. Bauer's back hit the wall, and he winced. Any noise could alert the Ishvalan. He began to scoot along the wall. He was almost there! Almost- he stopped, his hand suddenly coated in something liquid. _Was it…?_ Bauer brought the offended hand to his nose. A warm, sickening, metallic smell caused his eyes to widen. _Blood? Who's blood?_ From the distressed cries of his men, he could guess.

"Bauer! Help! He can s- Ahhh!" Bauer wrinkled his brow. _He can what? _Deciding not to wait any longer, the gold manufacturer slammed his hand on the wall, and blue light began to crackle along it. The lights flickered on, and not a moment too soon. Bauer barely had any time to lift his spear before it was met with dual knuckle blades. The force of the attack drove the rouge alchemist backward, and he clenched his teeth. Bauer faced the Ishvalan warily, holding his long spear diagonal to his body. Asher lunged forward, not giving Bauer any time to recover. Asher had to play this to his advantage. If only he could somehow turn the lights off again.

The two exchanged blows; Asher quick and strong, while Bauer defended himself and tried to keep the Ishvalan from coming too close. The State Alchemist darted around Bauer's defences, closing the gap between them, but Bauer brought up his staff, and it was only Asher's quick reflexes that kept him from being skewered. Metal rang against metal as the Ishvalan was forced to respond more quickly. He could already tell that Bauer was far more skilled in close-combat, and his long reach with the spear gave him an edge. The State Alchemist was slowly driven back, and before long, his back hit the wall. Asher grunted and blocked with his blades as Bauer attempted to slam the bar of the spear on his neck. He pushed back at Bauer's weapon, gritting his teeth. _Make sure my place up there comes with a radio and a nice, warm bed, Ishvala_, he thought idly.

Asher pulled his head back and kicked Bauer in the chest, causing the older man to stumble backward. Using the momentary pause in attack, Asher quickly stuck a hand in his pocket, knowing that the blade would tear his jacket, and grabbed his book. Bauer came at him again, and this time, Asher was one-handed as he struggled to hold his book at the same time. The gold-smuggler stabbed at Asher again, and the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist had to use the makeshift vambrace strapped on his forearm to deflect the attack. He ducked, and Bauer's spear slammed into the stone wall, wedging in slightly. The spear must have been made of an incredibly strong iron to stand up to both his Drachman Steel blades and the stone wall. Asher quickly flipped to the correct page, placing his palm on the inked-in transmutation circle, and slammed his other hand against the wall, blade and all.

With a blue crackle of light, the lights flickered out.

There was silence. Bauer hissed in annoyance, and lifted his spear, before racing to the wall to try and turn the lights on again. He was suddenly knocked off his feet. Bauer brandished the staff from his place on the floor, breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down his face, as his eyes flicked back and forth in the dark. He heard a sound, and stabbed at it, starting to pick himself up. The spear was met with no resistance, and Bauer knew without a doubt, the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist could see in the dark. _But how? How_- A whistling noise broke into his thoughts, and the rouge alchemist turned, every nerve on end.

The last thing Michael Bauer saw were a pair of haunting red eyes, one glowing a bright crimson, and the world turned black.

Asher wiped his blades off on Bauer's jacket, and sheathed them inside his coat. He had managed to avoid any killing- as were his orders- but if the men didn't get medical attention soon, they might bleed to death. He hadn't avoided violence, however. Making sure that the men inside were tightly secured, Asher shook his head. The situation could have been handled better. Nevertheless, he had a report to fill out. Grimacing, Asher swept up his glasses and left the cavern to find Rush Valley's paltry military force.

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello again! This is the second update today! It's pretty short, but I have to get these bits out of the way.**

**Without further ado, enjoy the chapter!**

****~ InkRoze****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, which includes Roy and Riza, unfortunately. But I DO own my version of Selim, and my other OCs.**

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"The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance - it is the illusion of knowledge."

- Daniel J. Boorstin

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Roy Mustang looked to Riza as they walked down one of Central's main streets, enjoying the day. There were hardly any people out, despite the good weather, but the Furher had disguised himself just in case. He forewent his military uniform for a red button-up shirt and black jacket. He also wore, what was to him, a rather ridiculous hat- which seemed to be the style nowadays- to cover his eyes and hair. Roy had plans to take his wife for lunch, with Jack covering for them at the office, but there was something on his mind he wanted to speak with her about. He just wasn't sure how to start. The Furher opened his mouth to speak, but Riza spoke first.

"Roy, I've been thinking about something for a while that concerns Jack." Roy blinked. He had been about to say the same thing.

"Oh? What's that?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Was she thinking the same thing he was? Riza hesitated.

"I was thinking; maybe she should go on a mission. Just a small one, or maybe a recon mission. She may never have the chance to be a normal girl, but I think she should get out for a while." So she _was_ thinking the same thing. He gave his wife his trademarked smirk.

"I was just about to ask you the same. I agree. Being cooped up in Central can't be good for her, as set for a career as she may be."

"A small mission, then?" Riza Mustang inquired. "Maybe the one you were talking about in Eastern? She would be protected, but it would still be a good experience for her." Roy paused for a minute, contemplating his life ahead regarding his daughter; the cold shoulder, being snapped at, evil glares and the like. As pieces of an already forming plan fell into place, Roy thought about the benefits. As long as nothing went wrong, and everyone involved responded the way he envisioned, this would all work to his advantage. But there was nothing a little coercion wouldn't fix. He grinned.

"You read my mind." With that, Roy set off to enjoy the rest of the short break with his wife, but not before making a mental note. He had a letter to send.

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Selim stared at the note in his hands, not sure whether to laugh or tear it to bits. His usual messenger had returned with a note. The fact itself wasn't unusual; he sometimes received inquiries or requests for information, though Selim figured that the Furher wouldn't lower himself to ask for help. It had probably been his kid- who Selim heard spent abnormal amounts of time in the Furher's office- or one of the other soldiers. What _was_ unusual was the content of the note. June read it over his shoulder. When she had finished, she pulled back with a confused look on her face.

"'Signed the Furher of Amestris'? What in the world...?" she wondered. Selim's hands tightened, threatening to tear the paper.

"A mission, he says. In Eastern. With the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist. And his own... What kind of a fool _is_ he?" Selim choked out, trying to sort through his thoughts. "He doesn't even know how old I am, or what I look like. I could be a killer, for all he knows."

"Well, like he says here, 'All you've done is help the military, whether through connections or incredible deductive reasoning'. Odds suggest you're not a killer, or a criminal. And I can understand why he'd want you to help, Master Selim. You _are _brilliant, if you don't mind me saying." She knew he didn't exactly like to be reminded. Selim waved it off.

"Oh, I know why he'd want my help, but what benefit could he possibly obtain from this? Giving me access to the _entire_ military records building? Even the highest level of security? This seems a little too good to be true. Especially since..." he trailed off. June frowned. He was acting quite unusual today; trailing off, stuttering, not bothering with his vast vocabulary. _This must affect him more than he lets on_,she thought.

"He will finally know who you are," the head maid reasoned evenly, "He will have your help with a mission, he will know where to find you often, and he will probably keep you as a consultant as a result." Selim looked up at his adopted mother. She was much, much smarter than he often gave her credit for.

"You're right. But..." he trailed off. "I just..." June smiled at the rare sign of an indecisive teenage boy poking through his usual decisive maturity.

"You're bored," she supplied. "I know you, Master Selim, and you want a bigger challenge than petty criminals. This is your chance. Sure you've never been keen on the physical aspect, but I've watched you train-" Selim sat up straight, as if electrically shocked.

"You...?"

"I know you don't want me to know about that, Selim, but give an old woman a break," she said with a lopsided smile. "I see more than you think I do. And I don't think anything less of you."

"You're not old until you're sixty," Selim muttered automatically, quoting something his mother used to say. June King laughed, her voice brightening up the suddenly somber mood.

"So back to the letter," June directed, still smiling, "You're going to accept aren't you?"

"I'm not certain. I've never done anything like this bef-" Selim suddenly straightened, stiffening like a board. Unnoticed, the note fell from his loose fingers.

"Selim? Selim!" June called, concerned. She knew what was happening. "Johnson! Call the house doctor, please. He's having another episode! Now!" The butler scurried away. Selim was breathing raggedly. June's voice faded as Selim's eyes lost focus. Instead of a stylishly furnished study, he was seeing darkness. Images flashed through his mind, seemingly unrelated save for the darkness and that feeling. That _feeling_. The emotion? No, the _sin_. The corrosion; Pride. It was overwhelming, the arrogance in every 'action', every fiber of his being, but almost... insecure at the same time.

The images flashed in quick succession.

Darkness, and _eyes_.

Dozens of eyes, he saw them in his nightmares, sometimes.

. . . . . . . . . Always watching.

_Watching_. . . . . . . . . . . . . Waiting.

Black tendrils, fast as snakes. . . . . Familiar. . . . . Were they...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shadows?

. . . . . . Hands?

Sharp as a knife and just as deadly. The sound of a blade being drawn.

_Blood_. . . . . Warm; hot. . . . . . . _Corruption_.

A flash of blue lightning.

Alchemy?

. . . . . . . . . . . Screaming. The future.

Intense pain. . . . _Pain._

Pride.

Uniform. Flash of blue. Was that... _Military?_

Blue...

. . . . . . . . Uniform...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Crisp and Clean.

Blue. Black. BloodRed . . . . . . . . . _Red_.

Stained.

. . . . .Writhing masses, agony, souls screaming out, _in every waking moment_, blaming him, blaming **Them**, crying to be released. Mothers, sons, infants, and lost, forgotten men. _Forgotten_.

Not forgotten. He was...

.Pride._REFUSE_ TO BE...

. . . . . Forgotten. . . . . . . . . . . . . _**I REFUSE!**_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . Not forgotten... He was...

**He was **_**PRIDE**_.

. . . _Selim!_

Like thousands of voices, speaking at once. All directions.

. . . _Selim!_

The eyes. Watching. **I'll be watching.** _Watching_.

. . . _Selim! Snap out of it!_

_**I am PRIDE.**_

. . . _SELIM!_

Selim's eyes fluttered open. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He automatically wiped it away, slowly regaining his senses. He was on the floor, lying on his back, with his head maid, personal doctor, and butler all looming over him. June was giving him a worried, anxious look. Something told him that his latest episode was especially bad. From the burning, stinging pain in his mouth, he deduced he had bitten his tongue. Maybe convulsing? Babbling?

"What... did I do this time?" he asked, his voice hoarse. _Babbling for sure_, he thought bitterly. The butler, house doctor, and June exchanged a look. The only three who even knew he had seizures. And only June knew what he saw during them.

"You were convulsing," June King said slowly. "And talking. I need you to be truthful. Selim, look at me." He did; his unusual purple eyes meeting concerned grey.

"Was it worse? Than normal?" she asked bluntly. He didn't answer for a long while.

"Yes."

"It lasted for exactly five minutes and thirty-four seconds," June continued as the doctor, Mr. Bishop, listened to Selim's heartbeat, "That's thirty one seconds longer than last time. They're getting worse, Selim."

"So it seems," the boy muttered, trying not to gag at the taste of warm blood in his mouth. He shut his eyes against the memory of... he wasn't even sure what it was. A flashback? Recollections? But they were always the same, in a sense. He could tell that they were someone else's memories. Selim didn't believe in reincarnation, but what else could it be? And that _feeling_. He hated it. It always made him feel tainted, or dirty. That, coupled with the grisly murders by those shadow-blades, always made him ill. Because he _knew _there was more to his seizures than met the eye. Especially considering...

Selim's purple eyes shot open as he remembered part of his "episode". Military uniforms? Maybe...

"June, call my messenger in, please. I accept the Furher's offer."

"Are you sure, Master Selim?"

"Yes. I'm certain. The military's records may have answers pertaining to my... condition." June nodded, understanding what he meant.

"I'll do that, Master Selim."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N: I'm so sorry for all the dots, but that's the only way I could think of to keep my formatting. I tried everything, but nothing else would work. Apologies!**

**~ InkRoze**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I know this is short, _again_, but I'm still trying to work out how to space each section of the chapters, so bear with me here! Thanks.**

****~ InkRoze****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, or the related characters. But I DO own my version of Selim, and my other OCs.**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear."

- Ovid

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roy Mustang waited patiently on the dark corner. This would be the day, if all went according to plan. He would finally learn who the mysterious note-leaver was. Whether the person was a brilliant homebody, or a burly ex-con turned do-gooder with connections, Roy knew that the note-leaver would be useful for this mission. Checking his watch, Roy tried to look casual. _Four minutes late_, he thought. The Furher of Amestris tried not to fidget as he began to feel impatient, fighting his instincts to take his right, gloved hand out of his pocket. To distract himself, Roy unfolded the note in his other hand, reading over the neat, unusually scripted handwriting.

_I have given your offer thought, and I accept._

_Please meet me on the corner of 16th and Dowswell at 11pm to receive my conditions._

_Bring the information and the passkey._

_Come alone._

A clandestine meeting was not something Roy ever thought he'd be doing as Furher, but the note-leaver had insisted, and Roy knew that nothing short of a personal appearance would warrant anything productive from the mysterious person. Roy didn't think that he would be in danger, exactly, due to the fact that the note-leaver was _helping_ the military, but he had an uneasy feeling about this meeting. Something just wasn't right. Footsteps, the dull clicking of polished shoes, sounded on the cobblestone street, and Roy looked up. A figure stood about ten feet from him, shrouded in darkness, but the features were still visible, albeit barely. The figure was clearly male, and clearly young. Roy let an easygoing smirk cross his face.

"So, Jack was right. You are a kid. Or a young man at least."

"Oh? I would like to meet this 'Jack'. Your daughter, I assume," the figure replied amiably. Roy noted the sophisticated air to the young man's tone.

"Yes, actually. How could you tell that she was my kid? All I gave you was a first name," he asked, trying to sound casual, like he wasn't actually interested. He could almost see the possibilities of having this young man as a consultant.

"You would not have taken such a casual tone about one of your subordinates, and you used no rank or last name. And I'm certain you wouldn't discuss me with the local florist or anyone else outside your office. I already know your wife's name; therefore, the only other option left was your child, which I have heard practically lives at HQ." The mysterious young man paused. "So I _will_ meet her, then. You trust your daughter with someone you don't know?"

"She is very capable of taking care of herself, believe me," Roy said, almost ruefully. "But she'll have Scarlet Shadow there, too. I also highly doubt that you'll do anything." _Or are capable of any serious harm_, Roy thought, taking in the boy's slender frame and pale skin. Pale, like he had spent too much time indoors. The young man smiled wryly.

"I'm not exactly a lightweight either, Mr. Furher, do not underestimate me. I wouldn't have accepted this mission if I were unable to fend for myself."

"I'm sure that my offer of access to the military records helps," Roy added with a touch of smugness.

"True. Speaking of such; did you bring the passkey, Mr. Furher?" The young man took a step forward, enough that more of his features were revealed. Dark eyes and black hair, kept in a low ponytail, and a dark, well-tailored suit. Roy was eerily reminded of the late Crimson Alchemist's style of dress. The most powerful man in Amestris- and maybe even in the neighboring countries as well- suppressed a shiver.

"I did," Roy said evenly. "First, though, I want your name and your conditions."

"My name can wait. My conditions are not many. Simply: one, I leave in no less than four days; two, I receive the passkey now; three, if I request assistance- within reason, of course- at any time, on the mission or otherwise, it be given immediately; and four," at this point, the teenager paused, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, "For your associate- or your wife, if I'm correct- on the roof of the department store to refrain from shooting me. As long as these conditions are met, you have my word that I will adhere to my end of the deal." Roy's fists clenched as his face remained impassive. He should have seen this coming, but the boy had been spot on. Riza had a scope trained on the young man with orders to shoot to injure if he did anything threatening. But Roy still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Or, more accurately, in his pocket. He only hoped he didn't have to use any alchemy.

"Very well. I accept. Now... your name?" the Furher of Amestris prompted.

"Are you certain, Mr. Furher? Once you confirm, you cannot take it back." Roy frowned. Why was he being so adamant?

"Yes. I accept. That's my final answer. I'll book a train for Eastern four days from now."

"Excellent. In that case, Mr. Furher, you may now refer to me as..." the young man grinned, and as he took another step forward, Roy could now clearly make out the previously hidden colour of his eyes. Purple. They were _purple_. Those eyes were from right out of Roy's nightmares. _Homunculus_ eyes. The Furher of Amestris fought with everything he had to keep his hand in his jacket pocket.

"...Selim Bradley," Selim finished, watching Roy's reaction carefully. Roy tensed up. It was only a confirmation of what he already knew. Selim Bradley! Roy had all but forgotten about the boy, since attending the late Mrs. Bradley's funeral six years ago. How he'd managed to forget, Roy wasn't sure. The military had watched Selim up to his fourteenth year, but after that, they had deemed him safe, and paid no further attention. Roy wasn't exactly sure if Selim had retained any of his previous life's characteristics or memories. Edward hadn't been entirely sure what Selim would turn out like, and no one else had any idea either. Roy wasn't sure what to think, now that he was face-to-face with the boy. If Selim _was _still Pride, Roy knew he'd have been dead by now. Should he say anything? What if Selim wasn't aware he had been Pride? No, he should play it safe-

"In case you are thinking of doing anything rash, Mr. Furher, I should warn you; I have several operatives with guns trained on you, and two with knives. I also have two others monitoring your wife."

Roy Mustang narrowed his eyes. So Selim did have connections nonetheless.

"Not at all, Selim Bradley. I just have one little thing to run by you first, and then the next time I see you will be during the debrief." Selim stepped closer to Roy, now only five feet away. Selim was taller than the Furher was; at least five-foot-eleven. Roy did not like that fact.

"Continue, Mr. Furher," Selim ordered. Roy's glove strayed from his pocket to rest at his side. He looked Selim right in the eyes as he said his next words.

"What do you know of the Promised Day?" Selim frowned slightly, thoroughly confused.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Mr. Furher." Roy nodded, discreetly letting out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

"Alright. Selim Bradley, I want you to know that if anything happens to my daughter, and I find you are responsible, I_ will _kill you. Is that understood?" There was a short pause.

"Certainly, Mr. Furher."

"Thank you, that's all. I will have the ticket sent to you." With that, Roy turned and walked away. It wasn't until he was more than halfway back to his apartment when he stopped for breath, and leaned against the wall of a shop. He had to pry his fingers from their snapping position. The only homunculus to survive, and it happened to be the one that, however temporarily, had cost Roy his sight. Riza joined him ten minutes later, her sniper rifle slung across her back.

"How did it go? I saw you tense up, and I was worried," she asked flatly.

"Fine, I suppose, I have what I came for. But Riza, he's Selim Bradley." A sharp intake of breath was all that gave away her surprise. There was silence for a while.

"You're still alive, Roy," she reminded him.

"Yes, I suppose I'm grateful for that. Also, he has no recollection of anything that happened. I'd bet that he doesn't even know he was Pride. Which is a point for us, I'd say."

"Are you sure he wasn't fooling you?"

"Positive. I watched his eyes; there's nothing. He wasn't lying."

"Of all the homunculi..." she said quietly. She was remembering her encounters with that particular homunculus.

"I know," Roy sympathised with an encouraging smile. "Now, let's go home. It's late. Jack's probably still up waiting for us." Riza nodded.

Back on the street corner, Selim was still staring after the Furher. Something wasn't right. He had anticipated some kind of hostility from the Furher, but because of who his father had been, not because of him personally. Although his father was long dead, Selim had heard from multiple, reliable sources that there had been plenty of tension between King Bradley and Roy Mustang; along with the fact that Mustang had been present at the scene when the late Furher died. Selim hadn't been sure how the current Furher would react. Had he been hostile because he thought Selim would try to assassinate him? Or was it something else?

Selim shook his head, frowning. For whatever reason, the Furher of Amestris was more nervous of Selim than he had any right to be. That, coupled with the sudden concern for his daughter's well-being, made the teenager wonder about what the Furher knew of him. Selim suddenly remembered his earlier 'episode'. _A flash of military blue_. Did the Furher know something about his past life? As impossible as it sounded, Selim knew that something was amiss. Beyond Mustang's odd reaction, though, the entire exchange had gone well, in his opinion. For now, he had arrangements to make.

Selim whistled once, loud and concise, and began his walk home, knowing his men and women would follow close behind him, watching out for any danger, but keeping out of sight; trailing after him like shadows.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, readers! Here's another update, for you. I personally love this chapter.**

**Oh! And I meant to say: in the last episode of Brotherhood, the pictures at the end showed Roy with a sorry excuse for a mustache. He does not, and **_**will never**_** have a mustache in my story. Enjoy!**

****~ InkRoze****

**Disclaimer: I _do _**_**own**_** my version of Selim, Asher, Meyers, and my other OC's, but I **_**do not own**_** Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of the related characters.**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"If you don't design your own life plan, chances are you'll fall into someone else's plan."

- Jim Rohn

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack spun in her father's comfy swivel chair, her head lolled back and her eyes shut. It was a hot, slow day in Central HQ, and Jack was bored out of her mind. Her father was out, her mother was with him- probably having lunch somewhere nice, for the third time this week- and the other personnel were also occupied. She was just drifting off to sleep, when the door slammed open, making Jack nearly fall out of the chair.

"Sir! He's back, sir! He-" Meyers stopped when he noticed Jack staring at him.

"Oh, hello, Jack. Where's your Dad- I mean- the Furher?" he asked, looking a little embarrassed. He sheepishly ran a hand through his red-orange hair. Jack smiled at him.

"You can call him my Dad, if you want, he'll never know. He's out. Do you need anything? I can help if you like."

"Oh, well, I don't think that you can really help in this case, but thank you for the offer. Where did he go, exactly?" Jack hesitated. Her father needed some time alone with his wife every once and a while. In his mere four years as Furher, he'd hardly been given enough time to breathe- dealing with Ishval, reforming the state, paperwork, and more paperwork- let alone spend time with his family. And it _was_ lunch break, after all.

"He's out, I'm not exactly sure where." Not a lie, just not the whole truth.

"I see. Well, I'll just have to tell him..." Meyers said distractedly, already turning away.

"Wait! 'Him'? Who is it? Is it one of the Elrics?" Jack asked, curious. She had never met them before, and still planned to someday. Meyers regarded her for a moment with his chocolate brown eyes.

"No... I suppose it won't hurt to tell you," he said, unable to resist her puppy look. "He's a State Alchemist. He came to be debriefed by the Furher himself." Jack repressed a frown at his title. Besides her father, she didn't like Alchemists as a rule. Her fingers unconsciously strayed to her right forearm.

"The Furher himself?" Jack wondered out loud, "As far as I know, Dad doesn't have any state Alchemists working directly under him."

"Well, apparently he's a special case-"

"Meyers!" someone interrupted, "What's taking you so long?" It was Breda, Jack realised. She and Meyers both turned to look through the open doors. Breda was standing there, his arms crossed, trying to look bored, but couldn't quite manage it. Next to him, stood Havoc, who was tapping his foot. Jack noticed Havoc send a quick look to someone she couldn't see. They were blocked by the door, so they must have been standing or sitting near Havoc's desk. Jack, curious, walked around Meyers to see the newcomer for herself. Meyers came to stand next to her, giving the State Alchemist a friendly smile. Jack blinked as she took him in, not really paying the half-Arugian Lieutenant Colonel much attention as he introduced the stranger.

The young man was tall, five-foot-ten at least, she reasoned. His most striking features were his dark skin and stark white hair, which Jack could tell was his real hair colour and not alchemically dyed. She had seen hair dyed white, and it had never looked as natural as his did. She also liked his coat, even if it was an odd cut, the white accenting his hair and contrasting with his skin colour. She guessed he was maybe 19, maybe older, and knew Kate would say he was pretty good-looking. The only thing that made her look twice was his goggles, and the little bit of metal poking out from underneath. _What _is_ that? _she wondered.

"This is Asher Reed, the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist," Meyers told her, quite informally for a soldier. He was just like that. Before Meyers could say anything more, Jack walked up to Asher and held her hand out. He took it. She noticed his hands were warm, and his grip was strong, a sign of good character.

"Jack," she introduced, "And I've never heard of you. Why is that?" She looked seriously up at him, her eyes unable to penetrate his tinted goggles, but still direct and focused. She wanted an answer, and Asher could see that. He supressed the urge to smile.

"Jack. Behave yourself," Breda said mildly, used to her blunt manner. He figured that the situation, at least in front of someone new, warranted a reaction of some kind from her "uncles". Jack ignored him.

"It's alright," the State Alchemist said, amused, and let go of her hand. His voice was soft, but could be heard clearly throughout the room. "I haven't heard of you either, Miss Jack. Would you be so kind as to grace me with a last name?"

"Nope. Not until you answer my question. I don't want to come across as rude, Mr. Reed-"

"Asher," he corrected, a small, nearly invisible smile on his face.

"Asher, then. I don't want to come across as rude, but I know almost everything there is to know about the Amestrian Military, and I have never once heard of you. Why is that?" she repeated. Asher looked out of the corner of his eye, unnoticed by the girl in front of him. The military officers were acting like this wasn't out of the ordinary; even the blond soldier he had deemed the most experienced took her statement like it was common knowledge.

"Well, Miss Jack, I admire your directness. Not many people are like that around me. I'll explain; I am not exactly common knowledge. I work directly for the Furher. I'm... a Field Alchemist, I suppose. I go on missions no one else wants to, or missions that require extra care. I work alone, so there aren't any partners to do the paperwork for. That answer your question?" Jack wasn't paying attention to the last bit. Something he'd said made her think. Missions that require extra care? Another term for "top secret" or "special cases". Suddenly, she looked up, intense curiosity in her eyes. She snapped her fingers, and Asher didn't miss the tiniest flinch from Meyers. Asher nearly grinned, remembering the Furher's other title: the Flame Alchemist. _What life in his office must be like_, Asher mused.

"Wait a minute, you're _that_ State Alchemist? Da- er- the Furher's 'personal Alchemist'? That means you're..." She trailed off, her eyes meeting Asher's tinted goggles. His smile, what little there was, disappeared, but he nodded.

"I am."

"You're missing an eye," she said bluntly. Asher paused, not sure if he heard correctly.

"I... what?"

"Your eye. You lost it in an automobile accident; or something like that. You have an automail eye, instead. I remember you, now! There's a file on you in the Furher's office."

"...Oh?" he muttered, taken off guard. Jack mentally grinned. She knew that the fact he was missing an eye wasn't what he had expected her to say. But she truly didn't care if he had Ishvalan blood. It was just colouring. It didn't make him any different than she was; though it did intrigue her. Why in the world would an Ishvalan- even a half one- join the military? Asher, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure what to make of Jack. She was definitely unusual.

"Yes. Now you've earned yourself an answer as well," she said, smiling. "I'm Jacqueline Maes Edana Mustang, the Furher's daughter."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Mustang." Jack didn't bother to correct him. If he wanted to call her by her last name, that was fine with her. Anything but Jacqueline. Asher seemed to collect himself, and turned back to Meyers who had been watching the entire exchange with a bemused look on his face.

"Lieutenant Colonel Meyers, sir? As much as I've enjoyed meeting his daughter, where did you say the Furher was?"

"He should be right-"

"Here," the Furher finished from his place by the door. Riza was at his side, looking at Jack with a raised eyebrow. Jack returned the look, and grinned. _Nice dramatic entrance_, she seemed to say. The Furher of Amestris didn't even bother with Jack, and instead went over to Asher.

"Ah, Scarlet Shadow. Right on time. I apologise that I wasn't here to meet you."

"It's alright, sir, your daughter took care of it," the State Alchemist assured him with a smile.

"Oh. Sorry for that, then." Havoc snorted, as Breda and Meyers tried to stifle their laughter. Jack glared, but then rolled her eyes and whacked the closest soldier, who happened to be Breda, on the shoulder. He stopped laughing.

"Why don't we talk inside my office? I'll hear your report, and then I have a new mission for you," the Furher offered. Asher nodded, and followed Roy, shutting the door behind him. Jack waited a good twenty minutes until she was sure her mother wasn't in the room, and went over to the door. She leaned against the dark wood, pressing her ear against the door and straining to listen. She could only make out a few more words at first, but her father's voice quickly became clearer. From what she could hear, Jack had missed the first- and probably most important- part; the details of Asher's assignment. _At least now I'll know about the _new_ mission_, Jack thought gleefully.

"... of utmost importance... task... Alphonse... report... will not let anyone... you're the only logical choice... any other Alchemist, but you're the best suited for... job. I understand your reservations, Scarlet Shadow, but I refuse to send anyone else. You would fit in better than any one of us."

"Sir, I don't-" came Asher's quiet voice, but the Furher cut him off, his voice gaining just enough volume for Jack to hear his next words clearly.

"This is serious, Asher. This should just be a routine check, a little recon, and possibly snuffing out rumors. But if the sightings are true, then we're in serious trouble. I have the feeling that there's more to this than it looks like. Something new is out there, something with power, and a grudge against the military. Besides the 'sightings', this situation isn't like anything I've seen before, and believe me, I've seen a lot. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Asher's tone was automatic and flat.

"You accept this assignment?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Jack could hear the Furher's chair creak as he leaned back.

"In that case," Roy continued, "You'll need a few people to go along with you."

"But, sir!" Asher burst out, his calm demeanor shattering. "I don't need nor want a partner, or an escort of any kind! I can handle this, sir; I've taken on more dangerous cases- alone- than this before."

"That's true, you have," the Furher agreed. "But this kind of mission is different than your previous ones. You need backup, Asher, someone to call for help if this turns out to be more of a mess than we originally thought."

"I…" Asher trailed off, and Jack leaned further into the wood. What was he going to say?

"And since you seem so interested, Jack," the door suddenly swung open, and with a cry of surprise, Jack tumbled into the room, stopping at her father's feet, "I think I'll send you."

"What?" Jack shrieked, incredulous, as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "I'm not going! I'm your daughter for crying out loud! I'm not even _in_ the military!" Roy looked down at his aforementioned daughter with a smirk on his face. He tried to ignore the fact that she wasn't even flustered from being caught eavesdropping.

"Jack, you're more 'in the military' then I am. You've spent your entire life here, and as you so boldly pronounced, know _almost_ everything there is to know. You are fully capable of taking care of yourself and your mother and I both agree that it's time you had a little freedom."

"Not like that! I'm perfectly happy living in HQ my entire life!"

"Which is why we decided it's time for you to get out for a while. That's not exactly normal of a teenage girl."

"B-But... Dad, he's an _alchemist_!"

"Jacqueline Maes Edana, that's enough." Jack flinched at her entire first name more than her father's hard tone. She quieted.

"Now, are you going to do this for me, or will I have to send someone else? Someone I don't trust as much as my own daughter?"

"I... I guess, Dad."

"Thank you. Now get home and pack. You're both leaving for Eastern HQ in three days. I have the tickets already bought, and a place for you to stay at Eastern. I'd advise using the train ride to get to know each other. Shadow, you should also inform Jack on the details of your mission." Roy hauled a stunned Jack to her feet by the collar of her uniform and propelled her out the door. Asher followed, his face unreadable. Before he shut the door, the Furher turned back to the pair.

"Oh, and one more thing. You will be joined by a third party, who has agreed to accompany you for... educational reasons."

"Educa..." Jack trailed off. The door slammed shut, and Jack could swear she heard evil cackling from the other side of it. It might just have been her imagination, but she doubted it. With a sigh, she turned to Asher, who still hadn't said a word.

"I sleep on train rides, so..." she took a deep breath, and continued with a blank face, "I like the colour gray. I like guns. I have my own sniper rifle and two handguns. I am the top marksperson in Amestris save for my mother, so I can take care of myself. I like to draw, but I'm not talented at it. I can't sing worth a darn. I get angry easily, but don't hold grudges. Anger me, and I will hit you. I don't like my first name, or any of my nicknames besides Jack, and I _hate _alchemy." With that, she left the office, heading home to sulk and possibly pack, if she could fit that in during three days of pouting. Back in the office, Asher blinked, not quite sure what had just happened.

"Sorry, Mr. State Alchemist, sir," Furey's timid voice spoke up, calling Asher "sir" even though he outranked the half-Ishvalan, "She's always like that. I hope you don't mind too much." Havoc and Breda both nodded along with the technical expert.

"No, no," Asher protested mildly, adjusting his dark glasses. "I don't mind at all." With a ghost of a smile, he turned to leave. "This will be one interesting mission, I can tell."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack stood on the station platform, a feeling of dread rising up in her and making her shiver. People pushed and shoved, trying to make their appointments or trains on time, and she was jostled more times than she would have liked. Just because she was shorter than most people, didn't mean that they could be rude. The officers serving as her escorts were Havoc and Fuery, and for some reason, no one bumped into them. Jack figured it was the uniforms; or their guns, which was more likely. Her attention drifted from the decorations on the military uniforms to the people around her. Asher was late, and she was beginning to feel impatient. She could have boarded the train without him, but Havoc had insisted that she wait.

Jack was about to go find a bench to sit down on, when someone bumped into her, knocking her forward. She stumbled into Havoc's broad back. The girl quickly recovered her balance and turned around, but she couldn't tell who had shoved her. It didn't help her mood in the least. Havoc faced her.

"You alright there, Little Flame?"

"Please don't call me that, Uncle Havoc," she hissed dangerously. Havoc took a step back, seeing the rage of both her parents in her eyes. It was the Riza side he was more worried about. After all, Jack always had her two handguns somewhere on her. The Colonel was never quite sure when she'd shoot at him. She had before.

"Sorry," Havoc said, not really sounding it, "You know, he's only ten minutes late."

"Yes, ten minutes _too_ late. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible and go back to my cozy office corner at HQ," she grumbled.

"You know, you're not a normal girl."

"So they say," Jack muttered, not really paying attention. She was looking for Asher's white trench coat.

"Most _normal_ girls your age would be interested in music, or friends their own age-"

"I have Kate," Jack interrupted.

"-Or sports-" Havoc continued, ignoring her.

"I shoot professionally; that's a sport."

"-Or boys-"

"You're just like Kate!"

"-Or clothes-"

"I _like_ what I wear!"

"-Not wanting to spend the rest of her life in military headquarters."

"Well,_ I do_, so I guess I'm not a normal girl. End of discussion," Jack stated, turning away from him. Havoc sighed. He was really going to have to talk to Roy about his concerns. Maybe this mission _would_ be good for her. He, Meyers, and Fuery were originally against it, but now Havoc could see the sense in the idea.

"Jack, there he is!" Fuery said, pointing. Sure enough, the white-clad alchemist was making his way toward them at a leisurely pace. He was wearing his coat open and dark glasses instead of goggles today, but his usual eyewear was still draped around his neck. Jack inwardly fumed, but held it in as he approached them.

"You're late," she told him, her tone even. Not accusing him, not teasing him.

"I know. I'm not as familiar with Central as I'd like to be. I've spent too much time elsewhere," he replied, his mouth twitching up into a small smile. Jack shrugged, and turned to Havoc and Fuery.

"Alright guys, this is it. I'll see you in... I don't even know how long, but soon, yeah?" She gave them each a long, tight hug. She pulled away from Fuery and looked to Havoc. "Make sure you do twice the usual, since I won't be there. Breda will help you with what we were planning, I'm sure." She turned to Fuery, who was giving her an incredulous look. "No, I'm not asking you to help, too," she teased. "Take care of Mum and Dad for me? And make sure you cover for them at least once a week."

"Alright, we get it, now hurry up, or you'll miss your train!" Havoc said, smiling. He made a shooing motion with his hands, and pushed her toward the train.

"Behave yourself, alright?" Fuery called after her. "And be safe!"

"Always," Jack called back with a laugh.

Asher had stood to the side, watching the entire scene emotionlessly. He wasn't sure how he felt. He wasn't sure if he _did_ feel anything, but there was a little tugging at the back of his mind that he tried to ignore, and not for the first time. He would never have anyone who would see him off at the train station, to tell him to behave, or to be safe. He didn't really mind- or so he thought- it was just something that he'd noticed more than once. But he never dwelled on it, or thought of it for long. Asher shook his head slightly, focusing his thoughts on their upcoming mission. He glanced at Jack, who was nearing the train doors. Before Asher could walk after her, Havoc caught his arm.

"I'm sure Mustang already told you, but..." Havoc looked him in the eyes, or where he thought his eyes would be. The tinted glasses were too dark to tell. "If anything happens to that girl, you'll have the most powerful man in the country as well as every last soldier in Central after your blood. Understand?" Asher nodded solemnly. Inwardly, he was both amused and impressed that one girl had so many people looking out for her. He had liked Jack when he had first met her, but could one girl really charm all of Central HQ to that extent? Asher supposed that her father _was_ known for his charisma, but it made him wonder all the same.

"I understand perfectly, sir," Asher said seriously. Havoc gave him an easy smile and waved it off.

"Now, I don't expect you to watch her every second of the day; don't worry. Just be a little more careful with her. She is perfectly capable of protecting herself, but she needs someone to watch her back." Asher nodded, and without another word, turned away and boarded the train. Havoc and Fuery both watched the Alchemist stride away from them.

"Do you think she'll be fine?" Fuery asked his long-time friend and co-worker.

"I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this. But Asher seems to be a good kid. We'll see." Fuery nodded. He had been thinking along the same lines. Both officers left the station to make their way back to HQ. All they could do was wait.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ****Hello again, dear readers. Thanks (again) for your reviews, alerts, and favourites! They make me happy!**

**Disclaimer: I may own my OCs, my version of Selim, but I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.**

**~ InkRoze**

**_EDIT: 26/3/12  
>-Changed Jack's first impression of Selim and smoothed out a few choppy sentences. <em>**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."

- Helen Keller

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Asher looked over at Jack, who was staring out the window of the train car with a blank expression. The train hadn't yet departed, and they were still waiting for the third member of their party. The passenger cars were nice enough, they had their own private car compartment with two seats on either side, but the dark green benches were very uncomfortable. There was a rack above their heads to store luggage on, but Asher just put his on the seat next to him.

"So what's with all the names?" he asked out of the blue. Jack blinked and turned to him, confused.

"What?"

"Why do you have so many names? Jacqueline Maes Edana Mustang. I don't even have _one_ middle name."

"Really? You don't?" she asked, intrigued. She was more surprised that he had remembered her full name. "Huh. As for me, Jacqueline was my mother's idea, unfortunately, so my father had no say. She's always liked that name, for whatever reason. I was named Maes after a friend of my father's, who was murdered during his service in the military. Edana was also my father's idea. It means 'little flame', and it drives me crazy! Everyone has their own nicknames for me; my least favourite being 'Little Miss Spitfire'. Call me that- _ever_- and I will smack you, State Alchemist or not. I just like being called Jack Mustang, nothing else," she huffed. Asher felt his lips twitch into a half-smile at her rant.

"I see. You have my word, Miss Mustang. No nicknames."

"You can drop the 'Miss', Asher, but I can live with Mustang," she said, putting her arms over her head and leaning back into them with her eyes closed.

"Alright," he agreed. The long silence that stretched out between them wasn't exactly awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. It was heavy with questions unasked. The slightly uncomfortable silence was broken by the door to their train car sliding open. Jack and Asher both looked up at the intruder. He was a young man, maybe nineteen, with longish black hair tied in a ponytail, and strange purple eyes. He gave the two an once-over before he bowed slightly, inclining only his head, and set his travel case on the car floor.

"I take it you are the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist, and Miss Jacqueline Mustang?" His voice was cool, and sophisticated, with an air of superiority. Jack frowned a little at his undertone of confidence; not exactly arrogance, but bordering on it. Her first impression was that he had something... _different_ about him, but was incredibly smart, from the kind of air he exuded. The young Mustang wasn't quite sure what to make of him, but she knew her father had his reasons for recruiting the young man, and, like a good daughter to the Furher, greeted the young man warmly.

"And I take it you're the third member of our party?" Jack asked, standing. She held out her hand for him to take, and craned her neck to smile at him. He was huge! More than half a foot of height difference between them. "I'm _Jack _Mustang," she said stressing her nickname, "Nice to meet you." The young man nodded, smiling politely. Jack couldn't really tell what he was thinking behind his calm expression.

"I am Selim Bradley. Your father spoke much of you." Selim didn't add that most of it was threatening his health about what would happen to _him_ if anything happened to _her_. Jack snorted.

"Ha. I'll bet he told you some horror stories about me. Don't take anything he says seriously. Unless he threatened you, then please do." Selim looked down at the short girl with something akin to interest. He found himself smiling, and wondered how he could be comfortable around this girl so quickly; he wasn't dismissing her as usual. She was different; he could already tell, and she didn't seem to be wary of him like most people were. She sort of… _radiated_ a reassuring aura.

"Pleasure to meet you as well," he said, his tone only a notch warmer, but for him, it was a huge difference. She wasn't aware of that, however. Instead, her mind was racing. Bradley? As in the former Furher's son, _Selim_ _Bradley_? She wondered how in the world her father had persuaded Selim to work for him. It seemed impossible. Selim turned to Asher, who had remained quiet, watching the scene. He studied Asher's face, mentally filing away all the information the single glance gave him for later use. Selim smirked at what he found, and held out his hand. Asher took it.

"Asher Reed," the State Alchemist said flatly. Selim kept his cool smirk, and retrieved his suitcase from the floor.

"I'm sorry you don't want to be here, Mr. Reed, but there is no reason to be short. We are going to spend an uncomfortable amount of time with each other, so let's- _please_- try to act like adults." Jack snickered- as if she hadn't been pouting earlier- but shut up when she saw Asher's dark glasses turn her direction. She put on an innocent face.

"Well, then. Introductions are out of the way," Selim continued. He put the large briefcase on the rack over Jack's head and sat down on the empty seat next to her; the only seat available, thanks to Asher's bags. The train gave a sudden lurch as it began its journey, and the occupants of the car swayed with the motion. Silence fell, but none of the three occupants minded in the least. Except for, maybe, Jack. She was dying to ask Selim some questions, but she figured she should wait a while. He was probably-

"Miss Mustang, if you have a question, you should ask, not fidget like a ten year old," Selim said amused. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the seat, and his eyes were closed.

"Well... I was just wondering. How in Amestris did my father convince you to come with us? You're King Bradley's son, so... I can't imagine you'd take him seriously. Or care at all, for that matter. Especially if you're not even in the military in the first place."

"Is that all?"

"No..." she said sheepishly, twisting the end of her braid.

"I see. To answer your question, he offered me information. As much as I please."

"He gave you unlimited access to the records? What was he thinking?" she growled, shocked.

"You don't approve? Don't _you_ have access to the records?"

"Yeah, I do, but- I mean, no offense to you, personally- but you're a civilian."

"_You're _a civilian," he reminded her.

"I'm a bit different; I'm the Furher's daughter."

"I was the Furher's son," he shot back, a smirk once again on his face. Jack blinked.

"But you're not anymore," she protested.

"But I was."

"Not anymore."

"But I _was_," Selim argued, enjoying every second of it.

"Not any-"

"What was that about acting like adults?" Both turned to see Asher, who was turned towards them with an amused expression on his face. Selim smirked back at him, and Jack wondered if a smirk was Selim's default expression.

"We're having a friendly argument, Mr. Reed, not pouting." Asher's face didn't change, but from the twitch in his eyebrows, Selim knew he was rolling his eyes. The Bradley tuned back to Jack, who gave him a look. He directed his smirk at her.

"Well, Miss Mustang, what else did you want to know?" Jack opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door to the car sliding open. She was suddenly tackled by an incredibly strong, black and blonde tangle of limbs. Jack was knocked to the floor, and tried to squirm away, but to no avail. Asher and Selim either stiffened or sat up in alarm, not quite sure what to do about the girl getting the life hugged out of her.

"Jackie! I found you!" the blur said cheerfully, pushing herself up. She was still sitting on Jack, but allowed the girl to breathe. For now.

"Kate!" Jack shouted, still on the floor, "What the heck are you doing here?"

"Well, I figured that an hour would be enough time to wait. Now you can't send me back," the girl said, adjusting her toque. Asher and Selim both had a better look at her. She might have looked twelve and innocent, but the way she spoke and how she dressed indicated otherwise. Kate was the perfect definition of unruly teenager.

"Oh, yes, I am!" Jack insisted, "I'm throwing you off the train, and you're going to _walk_ back to Central!"

"I'll probably break my leg, if it doesn't kill me. Can't walk with a broken leg. Or if I'm dead," the blonde reasoned in a dry tone.

"Kaitlin Leonore Armstrong! As soon as we get to Eastern, I'm sending you on the next train home!"

"But... Jacque_line_..." Kate whined.

"Don't make me shoot you," Jack growled, starting to reach behind her. Asher figured now was a good time to interfere.

"You wouldn't happen to be the daughter of Alex Louise Armstrong, would you?" Kate looked over at him, her ice blue eyes narrowed. Then she stood, and jammed her hands in her pockets. He could only see half of her face, due to the bangs covering it.

"Yep! Kate Armstrong. Who's asking?"

"Asher Reed, the Scarlet Shadow Alchemist. I wasn't aware that we had four members in our party," he said, frowning a little.

"That's because there isn't," Jack and Selim said in unison. They exchanged a glance, and then Jack continued, picking herself up off of the floor.

"She's a stowaway." She muttered, and turned to Kate. "Kate, why did you come? You know it could be dangerous; you don't know what the mission is! _I _don't know what the mission is, yet! Do your parents even know you're here?" Kate pursed her lips.

"Dad does. He said I could go, and Mum is okay with it too, though she just thinks I'm going on a trip with you."

"Kate!" Jack sighed. "How did you even find out I was leaving?"

"Havoc told me." Jack scowled, fuming.

"Oh, please, Jack. Why are you so angry? I figured you'd want me along, considering you're the... only..." Kate trailed off and looked between Asher and Jack, to Selim and back again. "Oh-h-h..." she drawled, grinning, "I see. Never mind! Though, I'd figured you wouldn't mind sharing. You do have _two_-" The Armstrong was interrupted by the clack of a gun safety. Asher blinked behind his glasses. Where had that come from?

"Shut up, Kate," Jack said, pointing the gun at her, clearly not amused.

"Hmph. You're just like your mother," Kate said, but put her hands up in surrender, "And if you shoot in here, the conductors 'll come running."

"It's silenced," Jack muttered. Kate just shrugged. She walked over to Asher's bags and considered shoving them off the seat. Instead, she sighed and picked them up. Kate stood on the bench and put the bags on the overhead rack. When she had finished, she sat down and crossed her arms, a brooding look darkening her face. Jack put her gun back in the waistband of her pants, and sat down with a huff. Both Selim and Asher weren't quite sure what to make of the whole situation. Should they be amused, or concerned?

Kate suddenly faced Asher and squinted at him for a second. Then she threw a fist at him. Asher's eyes widened, not expecting the action, and reflexively both dodged and blocked her swing. His forearm came up and deflected her wrist as he leaned to the left. He braced himself for another attack, but none came. His forearm was throbbing! _Ishvala_, he thought warily, _she's much stronger than she looks_. Kate nodded at him, as if satisfied.

"You're okay," she said grudgingly. "But I don't trust Jack with you. You look like you take care of yourself first, and others later." Asher blinked._ She's not that far off_, he thought. Kate turned to Selim, who was just staring, not sure what to expect. Was she going to kick him? Tackle him? While he could handle it if she attacked him, he wasn't exactly fond of the idea. He flicked his eyes to Jack, who was looking on with a bored expression, as if this was a common occurrence; but she wasn't leaning away, so she must not think that Kate was going to attack him. He relaxed a little.

"And you," Kate said pointing, "I don't like you. You creep me out. But you're smart, and you can keep yourself out of trouble." Selim shrugged at her, not really insulted. He didn't think much of her either. Kate turned to Jack.

"I'm glad I came, Jackie. Someone has to watch your back while you're watching theirs."

"How much damage can a twelve-year-old do?" Asher mused. Kate whipped around, glaring.

"I'm sixteen, you moron!"

"Could have fooled me," he shot back. Kate was about to punch him to Drachma, when a loud explosion rattled the train car. Asher and Selim stiffened. Kate looked at Jack, who also sat upright, her eyes wide. A gunshot.

"Jack?" Kate asked, almost as if she was demanding an answer.

"M9. A Ross-Windsor model. Standard, no attached barrel. Fired from about..." Jack frowned.

"One-hundred feet away," Selim finished. Jack gave the Bradley a look, and both Kate and Asher blinked, completely lost.

"I was thinking more like one-hundred-ten feet," she corrected, and turned her gaze to the door.

"Hijackers?" Kate asked, a note of apprehension in her voice.

"I'm not sure... but it's possible," Asher said gravely. "Let me have a look." He stood, and poked his head out of the car door, looking toward the front of the train. Nothing. The car ahead of them was a normal passenger car, with multiple seats. There were a few startled-looking people, but no hijackers or bandits.

"There doesn't seem to be any-" Asher was interrupted by two more shots- incredibly loud in the enclosed space- followed by multiple screams from passengers. He quickly ducked his head back inside the train car.

"They're a few cars up," Asher said solemnly. "I'll have to fill you in on the assignment later. Just leave this to me, alright?" Jack and Kate exchanged a glance.

"Okay!" they said in cheerful unison, both smiling at him cutely. He narrowed his eyes at them, but didn't say anything more. Selim watched as Asher left the car, closing the door behind him. The Bradley smirked. _I give it ten seconds; maybe six_, he thought. Exactly seven seconds later, Kate and Jack slid open the door to the train car, and took off after him. Sighing, Selim followed, but at a slower pace. If anything happened to Jack, it would be _his_ neck on the chopping block.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello, my dear readers!**

**This chapter is dedicated to **_**darkreverie13**_**, for snapping me out of my post-NaNo-induced daze. Thank you, thank you, **_**thank you**_**!**

**~InkRoze**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or its associated characters (which include Greed and Envy, unfortunately). I DO own my version of Selim, Kate, Asher, Jack, and all my other OCs, which, in truth, there are a lot of.**

(EDITED: April 3rd, 2012)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"I never guess. It is a shocking habit destructive to the logical faculty."

- Arthur Conan Doyle

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Asher slid his dark glasses into his hair and peeked through a crack in the train car's door, assessing the situation with a practiced eye. There were four men- that he could see, at any rate- but there were no doubt more on other cars of the train. The thugs, obviously in some sort of gang or organization due to their uniform purple bandanas, were too busy terrorising the passengers to notice the door slide slightly open. He thanked Ishvala that they weren't in an unattached train car, or observing them would be next to impossible. The cabin all three of the teenagers- four, now, he supposed- had been sharing was a sectioned off part of a larger, lower-class passenger car. The thugs must have missed the extra room on their first sweep. Asher mentally sighed. He really, _really _didn't want to have to use force. It was so… unprofessional. He was so focused on trying to hear the men inside, that he didn't notice Jack and Kate come up behind him until it was too late.

"So, what's the plan?" Kate whispered, making him jump. He only turned halfway toward her, trying to keep his attention both on the girls, and on the thugs.

"I told you two to wait in the cabin!" Asher hissed. Jack shrugged, but kept silent.

"No can do, Ash," Kate grinned. "We're coming, whether ya like it or not. The art of apprehending train hijackers has been in the Armstrong family line for _generations_." Asher growled quietly, and glared at Kate with his automail eye. She just stared back, nonplussed. Inside, however, she was supressing a shudder. The glare, especially with his mechanical eye, unnerved her.

"If Jack is caught, then I'm going to be-" He was cut off when the door suddenly slid open. The alchemist pitched forward onto the hard floor, followed by Kate, who had grabbed for his coat to try and pull him backward, but she mistimed her lunge, and over balanced. She fell onto his back, jarring him with her elbows as she tried to cushion herself against the fall. Asher held in a groan of pain, unable to scramble to his feet.

"Hey! Knox! There's a couple kids we missed. I _thought _I heard something," the man called to the train car behind him. _This is your fault, Armstrong_, Asher thought bitterly, as Kate's elbows kept digging into his spine. The gang member grabbed Kate by the back of her collar, and hauled her off of Asher. She gave an undignified squeak and started to struggle, but Asher shook his head. Kate thought for a moment about ignoring him and hurling her captor right through the train wall, but she knew Asher had his reasons. Even if he didn't know that she packed more of a punch than her small frame suggested, it was enough to deter her from fighting back.

It also might have helped that the hijackers had guns.

A different member of the gang, who had been standing behind the first thug, grabbed Asher's arm before the alchemist could slink away. As the half-Ishvalan was pulled to his feet, he managed to slip his glasses securely back on his nose. Asher discreetly glanced over his shoulder, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. He held in a sigh, and glared at Kate through his dark glasses, instead. _Ishvala, that girl_, he thought, as she stuck her tongue out at him after noticing his annoyance. Asher had known the Armstrong for maybe ten minutes, and she already irritated him to no end.

"Alright. Put them with the others," a quiet, but authoritative voice replied. Kate's eyes widened slightly as she noticed the man they had called Knox. From the way he spoke, even with his soft tone, Asher knew that the middle-aged man must be in charge. He was relatively nondescript, with flat brown hair, and casual blue eyes. His only outstanding feature was a black, simple tattoo of a snake on his neck. It looked unfinished, somehow, to Asher. Kate recognised the man instantly. Asher watched her face flash from recognition to a slightly morbid curiosity. Knox nodded to their captors, and both Kate and Asher were dragged over to the next train car. It was filled to the brim with frightened commuters. _They must have forced all of the other passengers in here_, Asher thought, as he and Kate were shoved inside, and the men left. The door locked behind them, leaving both teenagers with a train car full of hysterical people. _Brilliant_.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack quickly pressed herself into the small space beside the sliding door, silently thanking her slight build for the first time in her life. She watched as Kate and Asher were both grabbed and pulled into the train car, and held her breath until it slid shut again. Jack bit her lip, not quite sure what to do. Those thugs had her best friend. While she had no doubt that Kate could take care of herself, in addition to having Asher there to watch her back, Jack couldn't help but worry. A hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder, and she stiffened, opening her mouth to scream. A second hand quickly covered her mouth, and Jack struggled in her captor's grip, about to bite them, and hard. She reached for her gun.

"I would advise you to stop struggling, Miss Mustang, or they will no doubt hear you," a familiar, sophisticated voice hissed in her ear. Jack relaxed, closing her eyes in relief, and slowly pried her fingers from around the handle of her firearm. After making sure she was calm, he released her. She turned around, her dark eyes blazing. She usually would have smacked any normal person, but Selim wasn't by any means normal.

"What was that all abou-" she started to whisper angrily, but Selim shook his head, and put a finger to his lips. Almost soundlessly, the Bradley leaned closer to the door, trying to hear the men inside. Jack blinked, still fuming. After a while, he pulled back.

"They've moved to another car. I take it Kate and Asher have been apprehended?"

"If you mean _kidnapped_, then yes. The gang members yanked them into the room a few minutes ago, and I haven't seen or heard anything since."

"I wonder what their motives are," Selim mused aloud, ignoring her.

"Who cares? Are we going to go save them, or what?" she asked, miffed.

"_I_ care. The possible motives include; _one_, the gang is after something valuable on this train. If so, then they will most likely search the cabins and passengers until they find it. _Two_, they are after a specific person, and will search the passengers until they find him or her. _Three_, they want to commandeer the train, in which case the passengers will possibly be either kept as prisoners, or discarded at the next station. Or _four_, the gang is trying to send a message to the government, or military. If this is the case, then most likely the passengers will be held as hostages or killed, _including_ Miss Armstrong and Mr. Reed. There also is the possibility that the gang's motives are none of those things, but I'm not absolutely certain." Jack blinked at his miniature monologue. He wasn't even out of breath.

"K-killed?" she stuttered, as his words sank in. Selim resisted rolling his eyes, but it was difficult.

"Yes, Miss Mustang. My point is that we should more than likely wait to find out what they are after before we rush into things." Jack frowned.

"Alright, then. You sound like you know what you're doing." Selim smirked, and turned to the sliding door.

"More or less."

"More or…" she echoed, dumbfounded. "Hey! Wait a second!" But he was already gone. Grumbling under her breath, Jack ran after him, trying to muffle her footfalls as best she could.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Kate and Asher both stared at the group of twenty or so hysterical people crammed in one car. The group of people stared back, taking in their odd appearances. Kate, irritated as it was, glared at them.

"Hey," she stated indignantly, "We're hostages too, ya know. Ya don't haveta stare like we're on display." The passengers turned varying degrees of sheepish, and went back to being frantic. Asher glanced at Kate, who turned to him, and shoved a finger in his face.

"What's the big idea, Reed? We could have taken them!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. Asher tilted his head to the side, and just looked back at her calmly.

"Then Jack would be safe, and we wouldn't be in this mess! We're hostages, Reed!" she continued. The Armstrong stretched to her full 5' 5" height, but he still looked down at her. Or at least, she thought he was looking at her. It irritated her that she couldn't see his expression behind his dark glasses.

"Kate," he interrupted, "There were four of them. They had guns. Even if you managed to subdue a few of them, which I highly doubt, you'd never make it out alive." He snuck a look at the people behind them without turning his head. He knew they were listening, even though he was trying to be quiet. _I hope she doesn't say anything stupi_-

"You _highly doubt_?" Kate echoed incredulously. "Well, then, Mister State Alchemist, couldn't _you_ have done something?" _Never mind_, he thought flatly.

"A state alchemist?"

"What's he doing here?"

"He's captured as well?"

"Even _he_ can't stop them!"

"We're going to _die!_" The passengers whispered in panicked tones, as they began to shift around the car. Their restlessness was beginning to eat away at Asher's frayed nerves. Kate seemed oblivious to their murmuring, and opened her mouth to continue.

"Kate," Asher growled before she could get a word in, "Shut up." Kate gaped at him.

"Why, you-!" She raised her fist to punch him.

"Please, don't," Asher asked as politely as he could through clenched teeth. The last thing he needed was a fight from someone supposedly on his own side. He wasn't sure if she could do any real damage, but he remembered how much her earlier punch had hurt, and decided not to risk it. Kate narrowed her eyes at him, but lowered her arm.

"Because ya asked so nicely," she grudgingly replied, still peeved. "So what are we gonna do now?"

"Thanks to you," Asher remarked, "The passengers are panicking, and in a hostage situation, that's the last thing anyone needs. More people are liable to be killed that way. But if we can calm them down, we can probably find out what hap-"

"_Talk_ to them? Ash, come on! Let's just take the men out, and be done with it! _They_ don't get what they want, whatever that may be, and _we_ get the heck off this train! Deal? I think yes." Asher just stared at her for a long while before he turned away, muttering something Kate couldn't make out.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'my alchemy isn't exactly combat-based.'" Kate's mouth dropped open, yet again.

"What? So you're _useless_?" she nearly shrieked. Asher cursed in Ishvalan.

"_No!_" he stated firmly. Kate could have sworn that the glare he shot her was melting holes clean through his glasses. She shuddered as he continued more calmly.

"_No_, I am not _useless_. I meant that my alchemy won't be much help in this situation. I, on the other hand, have combat experience, however limited it may be. Violence isn't exactly professional, so I do what I can to avoid it." Kate met his gaze, her expression skeptical.

"Professional? That's whatcha care about? Ya don't exactly strike me as someone who'd give a damn." When Asher didn't respond, other than an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, Kate shook her head. "Alright, then. What exactly do you _do_? Dad only told me your alias. Does 'Scarlet Shadow' have anything to do with your alchemy?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what?"

"Kate," he said suddenly, ignoring her question, "You seemed like you recognised the leader, Knox, earlier. Who was he?" Kate gave him a wary look, but let the subject drop.

"Knox? Well, not _him_ specifically, but I-" Both Kate and Asher were interrupted, yet again, by the door to the train car sliding open. One of the gang members entered, holding a gun loosely in his hands. He seemed completely at ease, gesturing with the gun in a careless manner. The passengers shrank back into their seats, leaving Kate and Asher even more exposed.

"Alright, stand up, the lot of you," the man ordered slowly, clearly. The passengers glanced around nervously, rising to their feet against the sway of the train, but some sat defiant, unwilling to cooperate without a fight.

"What are you going to do with us?" one braver man asked. The gunman smirked, his dark eyes sadistic. Kate eyed him through her bangs, noticing his unkempt appearance of black hair and three-day-old stubble. Something about him told her that he would shoot first and ask questions later. She also noted the little bit of black poking from beneath his collar, signifying another snake tattoo. _So I was right_, she thought grimly. _It _is_ them_.

"The boss just wants a word with one of you," the man continued. "Just a chat. I'm looking for a Jason Ross." No one responded. The gang member's smirk grew wider.

"Come on, now, I just need Ross. _Only_ Ross. Why should all of you have to die for just one man?" The atmosphere was tense, and both teenagers backed up a few steps, trying to blend into the crowd, somewhat.

"I'll begin at the back," he said lazily, "And work my way to the front. If I don't get an answer from any of you, I'll kill one of the women, starting with blondie here." He gestured to a terrified blonde woman a few feet from him. The woman shrank back in fear, the man beside her sliding in front of her protectively. The gang man ignored them.

"After I kill her, I'll start again," he continued. "If I still don't get an answer, I'll kill another one, and so on. I'll do it as many times as needed, until I get an answer." He paused. "Do we have an agreement?" No one responded, but the passengers glanced between themselves, as if trying to figure out which one of them was the unlucky Jason Ross. The gunman stepped forward, and stood in front of a young man, maybe in his early twenties. Kate recognised him as the same passenger who has spoken up earlier.

"Are you Jason Ross?"

"No," the young man stated boldly. The gang member simply moved on, unruffled by the rebellious response.

"Are you Jason Ross?" he asked another man, and received the same answer. Again and again, the answer was no, and the tension rose. Kate glanced at Asher, silently imploring him to let her help. He subtly shook his head, as if to say, _Wait just a little longer_. Finally, the hijacker reached Asher. The entire train car went deathly silent, knowing that the woman's survival depended on Asher's answer. The gunman's dark eyes narrowed at the alchemist's odd appearance, but opened his mouth, regardless. Before he could speak, Asher inclined his head; a barely discernible movement, but enough for Kate to read his unspoken agreement. _Now_.

Without any warning, she lunged forward, and in one quick movement, punched the man square in the jaw. He went down like a sack of bricks, and the gun clattered to the floor. The passengers gasped in both shock and horror, and Asher couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise. The amount of force in her blow seemed impossible, coming from her size. She looked maybe twelve, maybe thirteen, but she had decked a full-grown man with one punch, like it was nothing. The girl in question dusted off her hands and removed one of her fingerless gloves to inspect her knuckles. They weren't bleeding, thankfully, just slightly bruised. She slid her glove back on, and bent down to examine the now unconscious gunman.

"He'll live, I think," the Armstrong stated, unconcerned. "I held back a lot. I'm pretty sure only his jaw is broken." She poked at his face with a finger; none too gingerly, either. "Yep. Definitely broken." Asher looked from the unconscious gunman to the sliding door, where he knew the other gang members were. He drew both Drachman Steel blades from inside his jacket.

"No going back now," Kate grinned, as she noticed Asher's rueful expression. "One down, the rest of the gang to go."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello dear readers!**

_**We're into the double digits now**_**! And on top of that, I like how this chapter turned out. Win-win.****  
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**Enjoy!**

**~InkRoze**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack peeked around Selim's shoulder and into the doorway of the train car. Only three gang members were left, the rest having disappeared to investigate a commotion. Jack guessed that Kate was the cause, or at least involved in it. _Kate always manages to get into trouble if I'm gone for more than five minutes_, she thought with a fond smile. Jack found her thoughts wandering from Kate to Selim. He didn't seem to have any weapons, but he had assured her earlier that he could handle himself. Did he have combat training? His build was wiry, but she had learned to never judge appearances, with Kate as her best friend. Selim turned to her with a smirk, as if sensing her thoughts, and tilted his head toward the men inside the car. Two were standing, cradling guns and conversing with the third, who was sitting quietly, patiently. He seemed to be in charge.

"Shall we go?" Selim mouthed. Jack just gave him a flat look, and shook her head. Before either of them could move, one of the members spotted them.

"Hey!" he yelled, bringing up his gun. Jack yanked out one of her pistols from its holster and fired twice. The gun flew from his hands and skittered into a corner, hit by both bullets. Jack cocked her gun again and aimed it at the man sitting down, the boss. Jack glanced at Selim. She had never handled a hijacking situation before, and really wasn't sure what she should see to next. The Bradley, on the other hand, seemed to know what he was doing. Selim wasn't looking her way, however, so she did what she thought best, and focused on her first priority: disarm the gang men.

"Drop your gun," she demanded, directing her gaze to the remaining gunman. He hesitated.

"_Drop it_!" Jack's tone left no room for argument, but still, the man didn't respond. Jack fired a warning shot at his feet. It left a hole in the train floor, only inches from his shoes. Instead of complying, he levelled his gun at Selim. Jack frowned. The fact that she was a teenage girl probably didn't help her case. The man wasn't taking her seriously, despite that she had a gun, and obviously knew how to use it.

What happened next came so quickly, Jack barely had time to react. Instinct took over, and adrenaline fuelled her actions.

The train door suddenly bent inward and slammed open, shattering the deathly silence in the car. A man in a purple bandana fell inside the cabin, and bounced off the first gang member. A figure hurtled through the crumpled doorway immediately after, and crashed into the second man, sending him stumbling forward.

A gunshot went off.

Glass shattered.

Next to Jack, Selim grunted in pain and flinched, curling into himself slightly. His hand went to his shoulder as the Bradley hissed in a shocked breath.

He'd been shot.

Jack, trained by her mother- as well as a dozen other officers- for situations like this, instinctively fired back. Her eyes hardened; a look that was common on her father's face.

_Eliminate the threats first_.

The Mustang didn't waste any bullets, and aimed to injure, but not kill. The first man went down, clutching at his thigh. The second man received a bullet through his shoulder, and one through his fingers, knocking the gun from his grip. Jack turned on the intruder from earlier, only to be met with a flash of white and copper brown.

_Asher._

Jack finally regained enough of a grip on her surroundings to assess the situation. Asher lay on his back, stunned. He was sprawled across the floor, a small trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Selim was kneeling, his face a lighter colour than usual. Blood leaked from underneath his pale fingers, and trailed down his arm. The contrast was striking. She couldn't properly judge the wound at a glance, thanks to his dark suit, which hid most of the blood. Shards of glass from the broken picture window behind Selim littered the floor.

The other two gang members were incapacitated by their injuries, and were too busy stifling screams and trying to hold in their blood to even bother with fighting back. Jack's appraisal of the train car was halted when she heard a quiet shuffle and the sound of something whistling toward her. She brought her gun up.

_CLANG._

A knife met the barrel of her gun, the force behind the blow nearly causing her to drop it. Physical strength was not her area, it was Kate's, and her best friend was nowhere to be found. The Mustang's vision tunnelled.

It was only her, and the knife.

Everything else faded away.

Jack kicked at her attacker, but he twisted out of the way. Her strength was beginning to fail, and her opponent sensed it. The man adjusted his grip on the knife, and shoved her backwards, hard. Jack stumbled into the train wall, nearly tripping over Selim, stars flashing behind her eyes as her head cracked against the wood. Her pistol clattered to the floor. Jack barely had time to flinch out of the way as he lunged at her again. His knife hit the metal wall at an odd angle, and sliced a gash in the train car, all the way to the now broken picture window.

Shards of glass fell to the floor every time the train rumbled over a new section of track.

At the other end of the train car, the door flew open again, this time revealing a very angry Kate Armstrong. She noticed two men on the floor, for all intents and purposes out of the fight, and clutching bullet wounds. _Jack's been here_, she thought with a sadistic grin. She frowned when she noticed Selim, and her frown deepened when she saw Jack struggling with Knox, unarmed. Kate began to run toward her friend, but one of the gang men she had written off grabbed her ankle. She tripped, and hissed as she hit the floor, simultaneously kicking out at what was impeding her movement. The man grunted in pain, but didn't let go. Kate yanked her leg toward her, ripping the limb out of his grasp, accidentally making a dent in the hard metal floor. She scrambled to her feet, and made sure the man was unconscious with a quick blow to the back of his neck.

Meanwhile, Jack ducked sideways, still flush up against the car wall, as the knife came down at her again and again. The Mustang dodged the knife, until he cornered her against a seat. He pulled back to stab her. She shut her eyes, knowing she had no chance to avoid it. She braced herself for the pain. It was nothing she hadn't handled before, but knowing what it felt like to be stabbed made it worse. She waited.

Nothing happened.

Jack blinked. The gang leader's arm was still in the air, but he was glaring murderously at the mocha-coloured hand crushing his wrist in a death grip. Her attacker began to pull back his free arm, aiming to punch the alchemist holding him captive.

_Thwack!_

The gang leader's head snapped to the side, his eyes wide with shock. Jack stared at Asher incredulously. _Did he just… smack that guy across the face with a book_? Sure enough, Asher was holding a worn black book in his free hand. A sliver alchemy array was embossed onto the cover. Jack averted her eyes to the gang man. She saw his muscles tense; his weight shift.

"Look out!" she called, but Asher wasn't fast enough. The gang leader punched him clean in the face, and tore his knife from Asher's grasp. Asher backed up a few steps, gripping his book more tightly. Selim, who had been nearly unnoticed the entire time, tensed from his place a few feet away from Asher. He was still holding his shoulder, blood now coating his hand, but he seemed unnaturally calm and unruffled, for just being shot. He exchanged glances with the alchemist, who turned his attention back on the gang leader.

"Knox, you have one heck of an arm," Asher stated, wiping the blood from his mouth with a knuckle. Before anyone could react, the alchemist flipped open his book to a seemingly random page, and in one fluid movement, touched his hand to the circle, and held the book out, facing Knox. The ink on the page lit up with an electric silver, and a sudden burst of blinding light raced toward the gang leader. Asher was so focused on his opponent, that he didn't even notice Jack's gasp of shock from behind him. The light hit Knox dead-on, blurring his outline. Knox screamed, and stumbled backward. Jack wrinkled her nose in mild horror. The smell of burning fabric was something she was used to, but the smell of burning flesh was not.

With a grunt, Selim stuck out his foot. Knox, still stumbling, tripped backward, and with a cry, fell out the train car's broken window.

There was silence.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack Mustang wasn't by any means a timid girl. She wasn't squeamish around mutilated dead bodies, she wasn't averse to shooting people, if needed, and she definitely wasn't one to flee at the first sight of danger. Growing up in the military had taken care of all that. But when she was faced with alchemy, she just froze up. She could hardly breathe; she couldn't even think coherently. It terrified her, totally and completely. Selim noticed all the blood rush from her face, and wondered what could possibly be wrong with her.

She swayed a little...

_Is she…?_ he thought, a little concerned.

… Swayed a little more...

_She is._ _She's going to_- Selim shot forward to catch her before she hit the ground, but halted in his movement when his shoulder protested. Instead, Kate noticed Jack's fall and beat him to her.

"Jack!" the Armstrong exclaimed, practically shoving Selim out of the way. Selim rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth as his wound throbbed. Kate gripped her best friend's shoulders, her visible blue eye worriedly searching Jack's face.

"I'm fine!" Jack protested, pushing Kate away and struggling to her feet, "I'm _fine_." Though Selim could tell she was most definitely not fine. Her quiet tone and nervous body language told him otherwise. She was terrified; but was it her brush with death? The gang man? Asher's unorthodox method of performing alchemy? It could be any of those things. Selim resolved to pay closer attention to his new associate in the future.

There was a slightly awkward silence before Jack turned to Selim.

"You were shot. May I see, please?" Selim raised an eyebrow, but sat on one of the wooden benches and shrugged off his suit jacket, wincing at the pain of moving his shoulder. Jack frowned in concern as she noted the amount of blood on his light purple dress shirt. His black suit jacket had hidden the crimson stain spreading across his shoulder. Jack pulled down the sleeve of his dress shirt, and, using the tear the bullet made in the fabric, examined his injury. It was gory, but just a graze. She sighed in relief, and held his suit jacket to the wound. His eyes narrowed at the pressure.

"My suit is ruined," Selim muttered ruefully, "That was a Garifel brand, too." Jack realised that was the first thing she'd heard him say since he'd entered the train car.

"That's the least of your worries, I think," Jack said, smiling a bit. "It isn't serious- the bullet only grazed your shoulder. There's a lot of blood, but your wound isn't fatal. It should heal pretty quickly if you look after it. I have some first-aid back in our cabin… If I can get to it." Jack looked up at Asher expectantly, but before he could say anything, Kate spoke, turning her attention to the alchemist.

"Knox… the gang man? He's dead, right? Didja kill him before he fell off the train, or did the fall kill him?" Her question was direct, if not a little accusatory.

"He's most likely dead," Asher replied cautiously, "But the fall had to have killed him- the intensity of the light I hit him with wasn't anywhere near strong enough to kill him. I only stunned him, and burnt his clothes a little." Kate nodded, still frowning, before something occurred to her.

"So… your alchemy is based on _light_? I was right- you _are_ useless!" Kate exclaimed, flicking a chunk of her blonde hair away from her face.

"Shut up, Armstrong," Asher retorted sourly for the second time that day, "I'm _not useless_. Would you quit saying that?"

"Nope. So how does your girly, sparkly light-magic work?" Kate asked in a bored tone. Jack grinned, despite her earlier terror, and a little colour returned to her pale cheeks. Kate was one to talk. She procured a sparkle from time to time, especially during her "_generations_" rant, and her father, one of the strongest men Jack knew, practically _oozed _sparkles.

Pink ones.

"It's not magic," Asher stated slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "It's science. If you're an Armstrong, you should know that. So I'll use the simplest terms possible. My alchemy is light-based, and can create light beams, which do damage depending on the level of intensity. Possible intensity ranges from just creating light to see, to full-blown disintegration." He paused for a second. "I vaporised metal, once, during a mission."

"Gosh, is that _all _you can do?" Kate asked sarcastically.

"Not really," Asher replied, smirking a little. Jack shook her head, and opened her mouth to speak; to change the subject; _anything_ to get away from the topic of alchemy.

"You two- please," she admonished, "We're on a train in the middle of being hijacked, there's men after us, and Selim needs medical attention. I know we hardly know each other, but just for now, could we _please_ get along? You can tear each others throats out later. Alright?" There were nods and an accepting silence for a bit, before Kate suddenly paled. Jack noticed, and frowned at her best friend.

"Kate? What is it?" Kate glanced at Jack sheepishly, and played with thread on her fingerless gloves.

"_Kate_?" Jack repeated.

"Jack… take a look at this guy's tattoo. On his neck." Kate pointed at the unconscious gang man. Jack cast a quick look at Kate, then bent down beside him, and pulled aside his shirt collar. Jack jerked back, as if burned.

"Kate Armstrong! Why didn't you tell me we were up against the Plague?" Jack nearly shrieked. Kate quickly backed up, waving her hands in protest.

"I just forgot, okay? Don't shoot me! It's not like it mattered, anyway, you would have found out sooner or later!"

"But… the _Plague_?" Jack choked.

"Plague?" Asher asked, confused. Selim spoke from his place on the wooden bench.

"The Plague is one of the most- if not _the_ most- feared gangs in Central City-"

"In Amestris, Selim, in _Amestris_!" Jack corrected worriedly. Selim gave Jack an unimpressed look before continuing his explanation.

"They are also the biggest gang in _Amestris_. You are aware of the Mafia in Creta?"

"Unfortunately," Asher muttered.

"Yes, well, the Plague is Amestris's version of the organisation, though they are categorised by the military as a gang. They are often the financiers or the masterminds behind crimes in Central." Here, Jack spoke up again.

"They're split into five different factions, one for each city, with Central as its headquarters, and the most powerful. The members are ranked depending on how many diamonds their tattoo has. Like the pattern on the back of a rattlesnake. The highest level possible is nine diamonds." Jack glanced at the unconscious man. "He only has two diamonds. Small stuff." Asher looked thoughtful.

"That man, Knox, he had three diamonds. This kind of an operation is entrusted to only a third diamond?" he asked. Asher was incredibly curious. He had heard of the Plague, but had never had direct dealings with them. To his knowledge. He was slightly unnerved after hearing how large the organisation was. He figured he would have come across them at least _once _during his time as a state Alchemist.

"Each diamond is given either after five years of being a member, or after a particularly successful or important mission. Knox was probably after his fourth diamond."

"How do you even know all this?" Asher asked. Jack grinned.

"I'm the Furher's daugh-" There were shouts from behind them, cutting Jack off. All four teenagers turned.

More gang men.

Brilliant.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Guess who's back! Yes, me. **

**So… 'I'm sorry' is really all I can say. I could give you sob-story of how my time was eaten by exams, followed by the demands of my job, and then computer problems, but I won't. I could also explain how awful my writer's block for this one part was, defend my laziness, or how my times I re-wrote this. But I won't. You don't want to hear that, do you? I will finish this, I promise. I hate leaving things half-done.**

**Huge, incredibly grateful thanks to both **_**thundaarwoman**_** and **_**abcsinging123**_**. They really made me step up my game and just bloody get this finished! Thanks so much!**

**~InkRoze**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, but I **_**do**_** own my OCs, and my characterisation of Selim. Now, I've been told that these disclaimers don't mean a thing, and are just a waste of space, but… I don't know… I rather be safe than sorry?**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"No one thinks of how much blood it costs."

- Dante Alighieri

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The three gang men stopped short as they entered the car, taking in the scene of the four teenagers, and, most importantly, their injured or unconscious comrades.

"Matthews! Knight!" The men rushed to their sides, and one with stylish glasses- unusual for a gang man, in Kate's opinion- crouched down to check their pulses.

"They're alive. Barely," he stated, before standing to face the teenagers, his face a mask of rage. By then, Kate was already in the air. She slammed full-force into the closest thug, sending him flying. Glasses, as Kate referred to him in her mind, jerked backward, avoiding her next hit. Her right fist slammed into the train car's metal wall, leaving a vicious dent. The Armstrong gritted her teeth. Her entire arm throbbed. _Ow. I put _way_ too much force behind that_, she thought, irritated, and turned on Glasses again. He side-stepped her left-handed swing, and was knocked slightly off-balance by the sway of the train. Jack rushed forward to assist her best friend, and with a quick, sharp movement, pistol-whipped Glasses on the side of his head before he could recover. He crumpled to the ground, stunned, his glasses cracked.

The remaining two men, including the one Kate had body-checked into the train car door, attacked in unison, one with brass knuckles, and one with a sawn-off shotgun. Jack ducked the first man- Knuckles, as Kate dubbed him- intent on stopping the gunman. She fired twice, sending the gun spinning out of his hands. Asher sprang after him, fists raised. The Mustang was so focused on the gun, that she didn't see Knuckles lunge for her. Selim, who had been debating whether to jump in and help or not, was already rushing forward.

"Miss Mustang!" he called, yanking her back by her shoulder with his good arm, and throwing off her aim. The bullet intended to aid Asher in debilitating the gunman went through the ceiling, but Knuckles missed his swing. The gang man paused, after Selim's words sank in, his fist half-pulled back to ready another punch.

"Mustang?" the hijacker echoed, shocked, "Like the _Fuhrer_ Mustang?" Kate took advantage of his confusion and knocked him out with a quick, powerful chop to the temple. Meanwhile, Asher swiped at the now unarmed gang man with his knuckle blades. The thug kept dodging backward, avoiding each swipe. Asher grimaced. He really, _really_ hated to use force.

"How unprofessional," Asher muttered under his breath, before rushing forward faster than the man could dodge. Knuckles went down, a huge gash across his chest. The wound wasn't deep, but Asher knew from experience that it was immobilising. The gang man fell to his knees, gasping and clutching at the cut, as if he were trying to hold in his own blood. Kate looked uncomfortable as she mercifully knocked him out, while Asher remained impassive. She wasn't exactly thrilled about the level of violence, no matter how much she may love fighting or threatening people. The Armstrong was all bark, no bite, for the most part. But when she glanced around at the others, she seemed to be the only one who was bothered, so she held her tongue. Meanwhile, Selim glanced down at Jack to see her glaring at him. He blinked in surprise. Hadn't he just saved her from being bludgeoned to death?

"Selim," Jack growled, "Safety tip: do not pull me around when I'm firing."

"But I-"

"Jack," Kate interrupted quietly before Selim could protest, "That guy knew you were the Fuhrer's daughter." Jack cringed, and looked up at both Selim and Asher.

"Maybe we shouldn't say my name in front of people? It'll attract unwanted attention. Trust me, being the Fuhrer's daughter will just paint targets on our backs. Please just call me Jack?" she pleaded, mentally grinning at the sound reasoning. Now they would _have_ to call her Jack.

"Alright," Asher conceded, seeing sense in the statement, but Selim frowned.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Is Miss Jacqueline alright, instead?" the Bradley asked. Jack turned on him.

"No!" she yelled, horrified. Then she stopped, noticing the way Selim's purple eyes were shining with humour. Or evil; she couldn't quite tell. Jack's head spun with the possibility of being called Jacqueline for the rest of the trip.

"Ah! No, no, _no_!" she protested, as Kate giggled. Jack glared at Selim.

"If you keep calling me that, I will personally-"

"I'll kill you, you brats!" It was Glasses. _How in the world did he recover so quickly?_ Kate wondered. Jack had hit him pretty hard. Holding his left eye, Glasses scrambled out the door, bellowing orders at the top of his lungs before anyone could react.

"Catch him!" Kate shouted, chasing after the escaped gang member.

"Armstrong, you idiot," Asher muttered. He shot a quick glance at Jack before rushing after the impulsive blonde. Selim made to follow, but winced as his shoulder throbbed especially painfully. The action didn't go unnoticed by Jack. She frowned, and held out a hand to stop him.

"Stay put, Selim. We'll be back as soon as we take care of the others," Jack told him, and left, following closely behind Kate and Asher. Selim mentally scoffed, but decided to follow her order. He leaned against the train wall with his good arm, and shut his eyes, trying to block out the pain from his wound. The burning sensation was fading, but it left behind a deep ache.

Selim frowned as time continued to pass without any sign of Jack or Asher, and he began to resent being left behind. It wasn't as if he were _helpless_, even while injured; but the longer it took for the others to realise that he wasn't exactly normal_,_ the better. He was so focused on this thoughts, that he didn't notice the footsteps until they stopped a few feet away.

"Hey! You! You're with _them_, aren't you?" called a gruff voice. Selim faced the gun and the man holding it with a calm, unconcerned movement. Jack and the others must have missed this one. The Bradley's dark purple eyes lazily flicked from the man's gun to his black snake tattoo. Three diamonds.

"And if I _were_ with them?" Selim replied. The gang member growled. This young man's unconcerned aura angered him. In his opinion, someone on the business end of a gun should be suitably terrified.

"It's because of you that my brother is dead!" the man shouted, his grip tightening as the pain of losing Knox began to set in. Selim raised an eyebrow, and the tension rose.

"Because of me? I assure you, I haven't done much of anything," he stated flatly. _Unfortunately_.

"But you're _with them_!" the man hissed, his slate-blue eyes hardening. "Who are you to them, then? Brother? Boyfriend? Cousin? Let's see how _they _like it, when someone they care about is murdered in cold blood." Selim's eyes widened, and he backed up a step. But where could he go? The man was nearly at point-blank range. The grief-stricken gang member gritted his teeth, and with a hateful growl, pulled the trigger.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack shut the car door behind her, leaving Selim alone. She knew he wasn't happy at being left behind, but it wasn't like they had a choice; he was injured, and would only slow them down. Her soldier's mentality was harsh at times, she knew, but necessary. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Jack picked up her pace to follow Asher more closely. He and Kate had already subdued Glasses, but not before his shouting had attracted unwanted attention. Two thugs stood in their way, while one disappeared toward the front of the train. Jack drew her M9 pistol and gritted her teeth. The entire situation was spiralling further and further out of control. They had to do something before they were overwhelmed completely.

"Jack, Kate," Asher called, dodging the gang man's heavy chain, "We need to get to the front of the train, and help the rest of the passengers. We've been through most of the passenger cars, and I haven't seen a sign of anyone other than members of the gang. They must be keeping the rest of the civilians somewhere."

"Alright," Jack agreed, ducking under the swinging chain. Kate jumped up, using her friend's back as a springboard, and snatched the end of the heavy chain in mid-swing. She hit the floor next to Jack, her feet planted solidly. With a savage yank, Kate swung the chain and the 200 pounds of thug attached to it into the side of the train. He crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap, leaving a sizable dent in the steel wall.

"Ow! Kate!" Jack complained, trying to rub the dirty boot mark off of her jacket. "You're heavy!"

"Callin' me fat? Thanks, Jacqueline," Kate snapped dryly. Jack twitched at her full name.

"You brat!" she growled.

"You deserved it."

"Well, so did you."

"Love you too, Jackie." Asher cleared his throat, not quite sure what to do otherwise.

"Not that this isn't a fascinating conversation, but we should really get going," he muttered, and started walking away. Jack and Kate glared at each other, before following closely behind him. He led them through a seemingly endless amount of empty cars. _Just how big is this train?_ Kate wondered, stepping over the body of one of the staff. A conductor, by the uniform. He had been shot recently, and was still bleeding, with a surprised look plastered on his pale face. She tried not to look. Another staff member- this time an engineer, from his coveralls and coal-dusted features- lay a few feet to the left, slumped against the train wall. He was breathing, but out cold, a large bruise marring his left temple. She was about to go over to him, when an angry shout jerked the blonde's attention to the front of the train car. The voice came from behind a steel door with striped, yellow and black caution tape painted around it. Kate frowned. That door must have been the entrance to the locomotive, which meant the last of the gang men and the rest of the passengers had to be inside.

Asher turned to Jack for a second, motioning for her to go ahead of him. The Mustang obeyed, glancing at Kate from the corner of her eye to make sure she wasn't lagging behind. The brunette paused in her step for a moment, noticing how readily she followed Asher's silent order. He seemed to know what he was doing, he was confident, and- according to her father- had more than enough experience in the field. The soldier in her unconsciously accepted him as "commander", and she followed his orders without a second thought. Frowning a little at this new discovery, Jack crept up to the door, and, with a quiet breath, yanked it open.

The entire car froze.

Jack analysed the situation in the few short seconds before the occupants reacted.

Passengers: three, all male, between 15 and 30 years of age. Huddled in a group in the corner to her right.  
>Enemies: two, identified by their purple headbands; one at the controls of the train, and one keeping a gun on the passengers, while watching an engineer shovel coal into the locomotive's engine. Both armed.<br>Possible allies: one; the engineer at the front of the train, shovelling coal.  
>Escape routes: none.<p>

All eyes locked on Jack, and all weapons began to swing toward her. Jack managed only two shots before she quickly retreated; both aimed to incapacitate the man holding a gun on the passengers. The bullets hit their target, one through his trigger hand, and one in his leg. Screams- the gang man's, the engineer's, and the passengers'- tore through the small space as the hostages flinched back in horror, the gang man's blood spattering across the people nearest to him. Jack quickly ducked behind the heavy door as the only remaining gun barrel was trained on her. Crouching down, she made herself as small a target as possible, wincing as a bullet slammed into the metal. The door was thick enough to shield her from bullets for now, but not if the gang man pursued her.

"Jack!" Kate hissed over the sound of the engine, "You alright?" Both she and the alchemist had taken cover on opposite sides of the door as soon as the shooting started.

"I'm fine, Kate. You and Asher take care of the hostages, and I'll take the last one." Both nodded. Jack took in a deep breath, motioned to Kate and Asher, and threw the door open with a loud bang. Jack went for shock and awe tactics, trying to draw the attention to herself, and give Kate and Asher a chance to bypass any gunfire. In hindsight, this wasn't the smartest thing she could have done. At top speed, she went right for the gunman, taking him by surprise, with Asher and Kate close behind. She fired at his hands, but her gun only clicked uselessly.

No ammo.

_What?_ How many bullets had she used? Certainly not all fifteen! She was supposed to be able to tell the difference between when guns were loaded and not; she had done it thousands of times in practice. How could she have missed it? Jack paled, as the gang man took aim. Desperately, she dropped the gun as if it were on alchemically created fire, and reached to her waistband for her spare. Her fingers closed around the handle of her second M9, while his finger tightened on the trigger. Something whipped past her, and slammed into the gunman. A stream of blood erupted from his chest as he choked, his eyes wide in shock. Embedded in his skin, visible through his now torn shirt, was one of Asher's knuckle blades. He fell back, gasping and clutching at his chest. He passed out from the shock and pain soon after. Kate went to check the man's pulse, while Jack sighed in relief, her fingers loosening around her gun. Kate gave her an over-the-shoulder thumbs up, signalling that the man was alive, and Jack turned to grin at the alchemist in thanks. He just nodded, and crouched down in front of the man to retrieve his blade and help stop the bleeding. Out of the corner of his eye, Asher noticed movement from behind Jack, and turned toward her. His crimson eyes widened.

"Look out!" the alchemist warned, his hand outstretched as if to pull her to safety, but he was too late. A steel-strong arm circled Jack's neck, cutting off a good portion of her air intake, and pulled her to a skinny chest.

Jack had made a mistake. There weren't two gang men in the car. There were three.

Jack struggled against his grip, gasping for air. She was facing away from the passengers, and toward both Kate and Asher. Where had he been hiding? Jack's best guess was that he'd been standing or sitting right next to the door. She wouldn't have noticed his small frame in all the confusion, as he crept up on her. But why hadn't he just shot her? He jabbed a gun into her temple, the cool metal seeming to sear her skin.

Oh. That was why.

"Ar'righ'! No one move. Wea'ons on the f'oor," the gang member demanded, his voice oddly slurred, as if he had a terrible lisp. Kate could barely understand him. He was short- only a few inches taller than Jack- and thin, but incredibly strong to keep a struggling Jack in place. As she examined him more closely, Kate realised that his jaw sat at an odd angle. He must have had it broken before, and it set badly, causing his speech impediment. Asher did has he was told, and let go of his blades, his hands in the air.

The engineer didn't.

An unassuming, blonde, soot-covered man in his forties, the engineer had been standing mostly unnoticed through the entire debacle, and had decided that holding a little girl hostage was the last straw. He raised his shovel over his head, and with a yell, charged his captor.

"No!" Kate yelled, her eyes wide with horror. The gang man whipped around toward him, and fired at his chest. Once. Twice. Three times. The engineer kept coming, despite the force of three bullets in his chest. He made it a few more steps, before the shovel clattered to the ground. His knees buckled and he slid to the floor, only a foot from the gang man, his open brown eyes sightless. Kate covered her mouth with her hands, tears pricking her eyes. Even Asher looked a little green, very noticeable on his dark skin. Jack's vision blurred, and she struggled more viciously, biting and scratching and reaching for her gun. The gang man cuffed her on the back of the head, and she froze, stunned.

"Tha'th a enouth ou' of you!" he growled. Enraged for both Jack and the nameless engineer, Kate glanced at Asher, and took a small step forward, testing the waters. Sure enough, the man tightened his grip on Jack and pressed his handgun to her temple.

"You thay pu', blonthie!" the man demanded. "Don' make' 'e ki' you thoo!" He turned back to address the captured passengers, but kept both Kate and Asher in his range of vision. "A'righ', I haf' a hoth'age now. Tell me whi'th one of you is Ja'on Ro'h, or I ki' the gir'! I _know_ ih' one o' you!" Asher scanned the passengers, his calculating eyes sorting through their horror-struck faces. One blonde, about 30 years of age, with wide grey eyes, and one teenager with black hair and narrow black eyes. Both were terrified. The remaining hostage looked about eighteen or nineteen, with dark, wavy brown hair in a short ponytail and shocking blue eyes that were clear, and unafraid. Asher couldn't make out any more details while the young man was crouching. The half-Ishvalan locked eyes with the captive, and an understanding passed between them. Asher saw him shift his weight to the balls of his feet. Kate's eyes flicked over to the passengers, having witnessed the entire exchange.

"Go for the jaw," she muttered, looking away. The gang man swivelled toward her, his eyes narrowed, and his back to the passengers. _Perfect._

"Wha' wath' tha'-?" he began, but was never allowed to finish. The blue-eyed passenger rose up behind the thug, his long black coat trailing after him. A gray-gloved fist slammed into the gang man's jaw, an audible, sickening crack filling the room. The thug screamed, and dropped Jack to hold his broken jaw. The Mustang fell to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath. No one moved; all eyes were riveted on the now injured gang member. The occupants of the engine room were wary and unwilling to move; regarding the furious man with the same mentality as one would a caged beast. Blood trickled from his mouth and tears streaked his face, but he never let go of his gun. Letting out an agonised howl, his mouth hanging open at a grotesque angle, the man began to aim his gun at the bold passenger, his enraged expression spelling death. The young man's eyes narrowed. He took a step backward…

And tripped over the tail of his coat.

The gun went off just as the passenger fell head over heels, the bullet missing him by a mere hair-length.

"Ouch!" the young man exclaimed. His voice was clear and on the higher side, but that was possibly due to surprise. The wounded gang man made to tear the passenger apart with his bare hands, but by then, Kate was on him. She aimed a vicious kick at his left kneecap, shattering the bone, followed by an uppercut to the solar plexus, and two harsh claps to either temple. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he crashed to the floor, his upper body falling across the downed passenger, and forcing the young man back to the ground. Kate nodded to herself and dusted off her hands.

"Double ouch!" the blue-eyed stranger chirped, sounding oddly cheerful. "Could someone please help me up?" Kate ignored him in favour of Jack, who was still breathing hard. She crouched down in front of her best friend.

"Jackie! You alright?" the blonde called.

"Y… Yes!" Asher, after helping the young man to his feet, noticed Jack's second of hesitation.

"Are you sure?" he inquired shortly. She nodded cheerfully.

"I'm alright!" Jack smiled at him, but Asher noticed her shaking hands. He hadn't known her for long. Only a few days at best, but even he could see through the mask she attempted to hide behind. She was shaken, and probably still a little scared, despite her ingrained soldier's façade. He was about to ask again, when the sound of a gunshot echoed through the train. Jack whipped around, her mind automatically filling in the gun's size, make, and distance. The noise had come from a few cars back. _Selim!_ she thought anxiously. _He's back there by himself, and injured_. She scrambled through the train cars, ignoring Kate's shout of surprise. Pulling her loaded gun from her waistband, Jack sprinted to the car, and slid to a stop in front of the entrance. She slowly opened the train car door, scared of what she would find. Her eyes widened in shock.

"Well, _you_ certainly took your time." Selim was dusting off his suit with his good hand, seemingly unruffled. _What about the gunshot? _Her eyes were immediately drawn to a body on the floor. It was the missing gang member! He was holding a gun, the same type she had heard being fired, with a pool of blood spreading around him. Jack knew, without a doubt, that the man was dead. She glanced up at Selim, who was giving her an odd look.

"Are you alright, Miss Jacqueline?" Jack resisted flinching at her full name. She would _never_ get used to it.

"Sh-shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question? What happened?" she demanded. Selim's eyes flicked from her face, to the body, and back again.

"He missed. The ricochet caught him in the chest, I'm afraid."

"For just being shot at, you don't seem to be very alarmed."

"He missed," Selim reminded her. Jack frowned at him; something wasn't quite right, but she couldn't place the cause of the feeling.

"Why did he even shoot you in the first place? Did you make him angry?"

"Apparently, the man that Asher more or less pushed off the train was his brother." Jack's eyes softened.

"I see," she said quietly. Then she drew herself up. "Well, as long as you're alright, we should get back. We have the others tied up in the front car." Selim nodded, and followed her. He let out a quiet breath, thankful she hadn't suspected anything. If she had examined the scene more closely, Jack would have noticed that the wound had not been made by a bullet, even though it looked very similar. She _was_ a gun expert, after all. _The ricochet killed him?_ It was ridiculous. The trajectory was completely wrong due to the angle of the wall, and there wasn't even a mark where the bullet should have bounced back. He had been extremely lucky with that one. Selim silently thanked whoever might be listening that he was adept at lying through his teeth.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N: And there you have it. Please leave a review! It makes me work faster. You may think it doesn't, but I promise; it **_**really **_**does.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey, there, readers! I'll keep this short, and let you actually **_**read**_** the story. Thank you all for your reviews, follows, and faves. It really helps my motivation. Enjoy!**

**-InkRoze**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"The very ink with which history is written is merely fluid prejudice."

- Mark Twain

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Kate had never been so happy to see a train station in her life. She practically sprinted off the train, and melodramatically fell to her knees on the station platform, pretending to kiss the concrete.

"Land!" she wailed. Jack stepped over her, making sure to lightly clip the back of Kate's blonde head with her boot.

"Ow!" Kate growled.

Jack ignored her. It wasn't Jack's life-mission to abuse her friend, but Kate just made it so _easy_.

As she disembarked the train, trying to blend in with the rush of fleeing, frenzied passengers, Jack immediately noticed the amount of blue uniforms that were mixed in with the crowd. _There has to be at least twenty-five_, Jack observed, _That's almost two full squads_. Selim and Asher, following closely behind Jack, seemed to notice as well, and watched a good number of the officers board the train with their guns drawn, as if they had known there would be trouble. Selim frowned, but continued to follow Jack onto the station platform. He found it odd that none of the officers set up a perimeter or looked into any suspicious characters, and that they seemed to already know just what to do. How was that even possible? He watched a few of the officers try to herd some of the most likely traumatised commuters into an area for questioning. A few others exited the train with both passengers and gang men on stretchers and in handcuffs.

Selim curled his lips in amusement, recalling the aftermath of the hijacking. After all of the gang men had been apprehended, the teenagers- except for Selim- began to panic, realising that no one was driving the train. Calmly, the Bradley had awakened an unconscious engineer, and explained the situation. While he helped Jack and Kate clean up the mess in the engine room and the engineer regained control of the train, Asher rounded up the last of the unconscious gang men and locked them in the last car.

"Jack! Jack Mustang!" a female voice called, tearing Selim from his reverie. The four teenagers turned to see a stern, platinum blond-haired woman in the Amestrian military uniform waving at them over the throng of travelers. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, and, as they neared her, about five-foot-seven or so. The aforementioned Mustang waved back.

"Amelia Torres! What's your squad doing here?" Jack asked her, surprised. "Not that we aren't grateful."

"The passenger list was red-flagged," the officer explained. "There were at least three or four known criminals that were identified, either at the station, or by name. We were sent here to pick them up."

"Wait! You _knew_ there were criminals on the train? And you just let it go? Even though you knew it was _dangerous_?!" Kate exclaimed. "_What about the passengers_?!" The officer frowned, unfazed by Kate's shouting.

"No, we received a call from Central HQ that the Fuhrer had officers on the train, and had informed them of the situation. We were told they would take care of it, and we agreed; we didn't want the passengers to panic. We were only given orders to clean up the aftermath." Torres paused, and then continued more hesitantly. "I'm guessing… the officers were you four?" There was silence for a long while. _Too_ long. Torres gave Jack a concerned look, while Kate shook her head in disbelief.

"Jack, your dad is a conniving ba-"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence or I will tell Lieutenant Colonel Meyers every single thing you've said about him within the last three years," Jack replied darkly, without even missing a beat. Kate couldn't shut her mouth quickly enough, and sulked a few feet away, next to Asher.

"Um," Officer Torres coughed politely, shifting her clipboard to her other arm, "Would you mind answering some questions and giving a statement?"

"Of course," Jack nodded. "To start, your men should find all of the gang men- well, the ones who are still living, anyway- tied up in the last car. There's a body in the passenger car…" Jack continued to talk to the officer, explaining what happened, with Selim filling in a few parts, but Kate tuned her out. After a few minutes, the Armstrong felt a weight on her shoulder, and turned to see a young man behind her; the same one who had helped them on the train. He was grinning brightly, his striking eyes closed- as if having his train hijacked was an everyday occurrence- and holding out his free hand for her to shake. Asher glanced over at them.

"Thank you guys so much!" the young man bubbled, "You really saved me back there." Kate looked at his hand suspiciously, but Asher just gave her a long-suffering glance before stepping forward. The young man redirected his attention to the alchemist.

"No worries. We should be thanking you for helping us, and saving Mi- Jack." Asher smiled thinly, taking the stranger's hand. He had an unusually strong grip. The young man grinned even more brightly and scratched the back of his neck.

"It was nothing, really! I was worried that I would be murdered or kidnapped by those gang men. I've never had such dangerous people out to get me before, and I'm not that great at lying, I'm afraid…" he admitted with an embarrassed smile, as if it were something to be ashamed about. Kate blinked, until his words sunk in. Before Asher could speak, the blonde reached up to grab the young man by his lapels and shake him violently. Asher swore he heard something rattle.

"_You're_ Jason Ross?!" Kate screeched. "You selfish, cowardly _moron_! All those people could have been killed!" Kate's shouting caught Jack and Selim's attention.

"Kate!" Jack exclaimed, running over and trying to pry her best friend away from the young man. Jack finally managed to separate the two- with Asher's help- and tried to calm the Armstrong down.

"Kaitlin Leonore Armstrong!" Jack admonished, "Take a deep breath! And stop being so rude!" Kate pulled away from Jack, still glaring at the newly dubbed Jason. Said young man's blue eyes were dazed, and Jack couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he seemed to still be in one piece. He had to be pretty strong to withstand any of Kate's yanking and shoving.

"I'm sorry," Jack apologised, "She doesn't mean it-"

"I do so! This _idiot _is more concerned for his own skin than he is for anyone else's!" Kate hissed. Jack frowned.

"Would I ask _you_ to give yourself up to save a train full of people?" the Mustang reasoned. By now, the commotion had grabbed the attention of nearly everyone in a twenty-foot radius, including Selim, who was looking on; partly concerned for the young man's health, and partly amused by it all.

"Why are you defending him, Jack?" Kate whined, "The passengers could have been murdered! They didn't even know him!"

"But they didn't die," Jason interrupted with a smile, "You saved them!"

"That's not the point!" Kate protested. Jack twitched. _Is this guy an idiot?_ she couldn't help but think. _He's not going to live for long if he keeps talking. And _grinning_ like that_. Kate took a deep breath, her wide eyes still blazing.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Fine. It turned out alright, I admit, but it could have been a whole lot worse. Those people could have died. As long as you understand that, then I'm… I'm…" Jack raised an eyebrow and nudged her best friend.

"Alright! I'm s-sorry for shaking you," Kate growled, "And yelling." Jason gave the teenager another sunny smile, unruffled by her lack of sincerity.

"No, no, it's alright! I get why you're mad! But just between us…" Jason Ross leaned in a bit closer, his blue eyes darkening a shade, and his voice growing cold, "I wouldn't have let those people die." Then he was standing up straight, with a closed-eyed grin lighting up his face, and Kate wondered if that chill she'd felt crawling down her spine was just her imagination.

"Well, I have to go, now; places to be! Hope to see you soon!" Jason called, waving like a lunatic. Or, at least, in Kate's opinion, he was. Even so, she couldn't help thinking that maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe there was a _slight _possibility that he could worm his way back into her good books. But it was all dashed when he ruffled the blonde girl's hair, his silly grin still present on his face.

That did it.

Kate glared at him in absolute rage, her teeth gritted and her muscles coiled to strike. But before she could even think of pouncing, he was gone, dissolving into the crowd.

"What a character," Asher muttered, eyeing Kate warily.

"You mean what a-"

"Kate. Do not finish that sentence," Jack interrupted automatically.

"I was going to say 'jerk'," Kate muttered. She was ignored.

"Besides, Miss Armstrong," Selim spoke up, "You must realise he has a point."

"What point?! He's just-" Jack tuned out of their argument, watching Kate gesture wildly and Selim shake his head in exasperation.

"Er… Miss Mustang? Mr. Reed? Just one more thing, if you wouldn't mind?" came a feminine voice from behind them. Jack turned around to face Officer Torres, her face expectant. Asher also turned, albeit less enthusiastically.

"Yes?" she asked, smiling.

"Well, I figured you'd like an update, as well. My squad just delivered the final report." Torres said, a little more quietly than usual. She glanced at the quarrelling Selim and Kate.

"Oh, yes, please. Anything unusual?" Jack pressed.

"No, it's a clean, normal case of hijacking. Few civilian casualties. Although," the officer frowned, her brown eyes confused, "The body in the furthest passenger car, the one you said was killed by ricochet? It's a little strange. The wound on him; it's not a bullet wound. It looks quite similar, but there was no bullet- not in him, or around him- and there's no bullet marks on the wall. Nothing. If it were up to me, Miss Mustang, I would say he was stabbed with a sort of rod or spear, or possibly a blade." The officer shook her head. "I suppose it's not that important, anyway; just strange. Again, thank you for your help!" Amelia Torres waved to them, and with a cheerful smile, walked off to join her fellow officers.

Jack and Asher exchanged a look, and they both turned to look at Selim, who was still trying to talk some sense into Kate. Whatever happened now, both the alchemist and the Fuhrer's daughter knew that Selim was by no means defenceless _or _spineless. Jack couldn't help but worry a little about the strange young man. Why had he lied to her? If he was capable of taking care of himself- with a weapon, no less- why hadn't Selim told her as much? Jack sighed. Whatever the case, she now knew that Selim wasn't one to be taken lightly.

Asher, on the other hand, wasn't going to let Selim out of his sight. _Ever_.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As they left the station a few hours later, luggage in hand and starving, the four teenagers ambled down Eastern's dusty, hot streets, searching for somewhere to eat. They had cleaned up what little they could at the station, while Selim's shoulder was bandaged by one of the medics on hand.

"You're lucky it was just a graze, young man," the female medic had admonished, "A few inches lower, and you'd have lost muscle movement in your arm. Right lucky, you are. This should heal up in no time; two weeks at the very most." Selim lightly traced the cloth over his bandage with the tips of his fingers. The wound still throbbed, but it was nothing like the burning sensation he'd suffered earlier. He felt eyes on his back follow his movement, but he didn't turn around. Selim had already noticed Jack giving him surreptitious glances from the corner of her eye, but she always looked away when he glanced at her. _She knows something is off_, Selim thought grimly. _I'll have to be more careful from now on. _Even when she wasn't looking at him, Selim still felt as if he were being watched. Kate was completely oblivious, walking ahead of them and humming a tune, which left only Asher. He couldn't read the Ishvalan's eyes behind his dark glasses, but he knew the alchemist was watching him closely. A headache was beginning to form between his eyes, for more reasons than one. He tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, momentarily blocking out the bright sun. He didn't function well in hot weather.

"So," Kate began, breaking up the odd tension she didn't understand, but could sense, "That's definitely on the list of things I never wanna do again."

"Agreed," Jack muttered. Then she glanced at Asher. "It definitely wasn't part of my plan, to fight off a gang in a train hijacking. Originally, Asher, you were supposed to explain the details of our mission."

"No time like the present," Selim added. There was silence for a few minutes, before Asher nodded.

"Alright. But let's get somewhere cool, and find something to eat first. Then I'll explain."

"I don't know why your dad didn't just tell you guys first, Jackie," Kate muttered. "It would've made everything easier."

"My particular circumstances were… unique," said Selim with a sly half-smirk, "But Miss Armstrong is correct, Miss Jacqueline. Why didn't your father explain everything beforehand?" Jack frowned.

"I'm not really sure."

"Nevertheless," Asher interrupted, "There's a good diner just down the next street. It's small, but not busy, so we can talk there." Kate turned around, walking backwards to study Asher.

"Didja grow up here in Eastern City?" she asked, trying not to trip.

"You mean because I'm half-Ishvalan?" His tone wasn't _sharp_, exactly, more wary; but Kate caught it all the same.

"Only half?" the Armstrong muttered briefly, and then, "No, it's because you know where to eat. I'm just curious, Ash. Don't be so sensitive."

"Ishvala give me patience," he sighed. Both Jack and Selim took careful note of Asher's failure to answer Kate's question. A slightly uncomfortable silence engulfed the group as they made their way toward the diner, the air heavy with questions unasked and unanswered.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roy Mustang laced his fingers under his chin, and stared hard at his desk. His daughter's mission, the one _he_ had sent her on, was consuming his mind. Facts, figures, long buried memories, and repressed emotions tugged at his heart, sending his thoughts spinning. This mission. _He _had sent her. His own daughter. _His own_. Roy gritted his teeth, his gaze intensifying. Despite his reluctance to let his flesh and blood enter the path of possible danger, there was no one he trusted more, besides Riza. He would have taken care of the mission himself, but he was Fuhrer, now. He had responsibilities. Subordinates. His position- in this particular case- became nothing more than a ball and chain. It would cause mass panic if he suddenly arrived in Eastern to investigate, even without his figurative guns blazing.

Riza was his next choice, but it would be suspicious if the Fuhrer's wife suddenly paid an investigative visit to East City, especially after some of the reports he'd received. He hadn't made them common knowledge, and even took precautions, but word managed to get out, as it always did. He eventually settled for his third choice; his own daughter. He had thought long and hard about his decision. He had spoken to Riza. He had reluctantly shared some of his suspicions, and his hesitation. It led to a heated discussion that lasted long into the night, dredging up unpleasant memories of the past.

As for the mission… Riza had emphasised the fact that danger was only possible, not probable. If the rumours were true, then Jack could very well be in trouble, but that's all they had to go on. Rumours. It was all just speculation, just superstition and myths; but on the off chance they was true, on the off chance she _would_ be in danger…

_Truth help anyone who stood in his way._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Selim shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench of the diner booth. The atmosphere was still a little tense and awkward; neither of the male teenagers were quite sure how to begin a conversation while they waited for their food to arrive. Small talk had never been a strength of Selim's- he preferred to listen and observe, filing newly acquired information away for later use- and Asher didn't speak much in the first place. Jack, however, seemed to have a natural talent for it, a trait possibly inherited from her father. She was currently engrossed in a quiet conversation with Kate about random goings on in HQ.

Selim glanced from Jack to Asher, taking in his standoffish body language. Arms crossed, chin tilted to the side, his pose calm, but stiff. Dark, reflective glasses hid expressive eyes. Selim's lips twitched downward. It was so difficult to make conversation with someone who so obviously didn't want it.

"I believe you never answered Miss Armstrong's question, Mr. Reed," Selim began, "Did you grow up here, in Eastern?"

"Why do you do that?" Asher asked abruptly.

"Pardon me?"

"Why do you call everyone Mister or Miss? It's a bit formal, isn't it?"

"It's polite," Selim answered, incredulous. His mother- both real _and_ surrogate, really- had deeply ingrained manners into him. He hadn't really given it much thought, before. It was just habit.

"I suppose."

"It's _professional_," Selim smirked. Asher's eyebrow twitched, but his response was cut off by the arrival of their food. Kate let out a whoop, much to Jack's embarrassment, as she tucked into her meal.

"Asher," Jack spoke up, after most of her own food had disappeared, "The suspense is killing me; what exactly are we here for?" The half-Ishvalan didn't answer right away, smiling a little to himself, until Kate threatened to deck him.

"That's won't be necessary, Armstrong," he muttered, leaning away from the blonde. "Jack, your father was concerned about some reports he received from the Eastern area. There were… sightings. Mostly in Eastern, but in Liore as well-"

"Sightings?" Kate interrupted. Asher gave her a look, before he continued.

"Those were the Fuhrer's exact words. 'Sightings'. Sightings of unusual tracks; strangers who only appeared for a day, and then vanished without a trace; and people who have been long dead."

"Those just sound like urban legends," Jack observed. "Ghosts and haunting and the like. Hardly cause for the military's interference. Of course, it's not like we're Dad's best men, but we're men, regardless. Kind of." Jack frowned at her own sentence. In reality, they weren't the Fuhrer's men. They all had ties to the military, but weren't directly enlisted. Asher was a state alchemist, true, but he wasn't tied to a particular district, or any direct superior other than the Fuhrer. He was also largely unknown to the public, as she was. She might be the Fuhrer's daughter, but she holed herself up in Central HQ nearly twenty-four-seven. Of course, the public knew Roy Mustang had a daughter, but her particulars- such as her general description and talents- had mostly been kept private. Also generally unknown, Selim hadn't been an active part in the country, even before his father and mother died. And Kate… Well, Kate wasn't even supposed to be there.

Jack's eyebrows furrowed. What _was_ her father trying to do?

"Yes, I know; it sounds like old wives' tales to me, as well," Asher agreed, pulling her from her thoughts, "And I told him as much. But all he would say was that he didn't want to just _assume_ things, and cause a panic. He wanted to be sure. We're only supposed to do a little recon, a little bit of investigating, and report anything to him immediately. Apparently, the Fuhrer entrusted the details of the mission to me, because he didn't want to risk word getting out that he was investigating this particular case. Something about possibly causing panic in Central HQ." Jack sat back with a thoughtful look on her face, processing what she had been told. Kate just kept eating. This mission wasn't really her business anyway; she only came to watch her best friend's back. Well, _mostly_.

"Investigating, hmmn?" Selim mused. "I will be happy to lend my services in that area."

"I also have a contact I often receive information from, if needed," Asher put in. "I don't know him and he doesn't know me, but he's never been wrong once. I get most of my case facts from him."

"Oh? I've done some consultant work. Mostly for the military, but occasionally for clients, both anonymous and not. Recently, I was in contact with an anonymous alchemist in Rush Valley. He was disbanding a smuggling ring, and needed names and locations. Last I heard, he was successful."

"Wait a second!" Asher interrupted, shocked, "That was _my _case. That alchemist was _me_. Don't tell me you…" Selim and Asher both stared at each other.

"That was _you_?" Selim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ishvala. You _have_ to be kidding me," Asher growled.

"_You're_ my contact?" they exclaimed in incredulous unison.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Hello again! Just stopping by to finally update. Took me long enough. Thank you all so much for your wonderful, encouraging reviews! You have no idea how much they inspire me to write. **_

_**As a side note, I like the idea of adding quotes that be beginning of chapters, so I gave it a shot, and added them to the rest of the chapters. Actually, I think this one encompasses a good portion of my story, for the most part; but we'll see how this goes. Thank you for your patience with all of my experimenting and my sporadic updates, few and far between. I'm still trying to find my groove in the FanFic world. At any rate, enjoy the chapter! I'll do my best to have the next one up in acceptable time. I'm not entirely happy with this one, so the next one will be better. Count on it.**_

_**-InkRoze**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, nor any of the characters, but I DO own my OCs and my version of Selim. Please do me a huge favour, and don't steal him.**_

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_Previously:_

"I also have a contact I often receive information from, if needed," Asher put in. "I don't know him and he doesn't know me, but he's never been wrong once. I get most of my case facts from him."

"_Oh? I've done some consultant work. Mostly for the military, but occasionally for clients, both anonymous and not. Recently, I was in contact with an anonymous alchemist in Rush Valley. He was disbanding a smuggling ring, and needed names and locations. Last I heard, he was successful."_

"_Wait a second!" Asher interrupted, shocked, "That was _my_ case. That alchemist was _me_. Don't tell me_ _you…" Selim and Asher both stared at each other._

"_That was _you_?" Selim asked, raising an eyebrow._

"_Ishvala. You _have_ to be kidding me," Asher growled._

"You're_ my contact?" they exclaimed in incredulous unison._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Anger is the enemy of non-violence, and pride is the monster that swallows it up."

-Mahatma Gandhi

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Both teenagers stared at each other in horror and disbelief- albeit slightly muted in Selim's case- their previous exclamation drawing Jack and Kate's interest.

"I can't believe this!" Asher muttered.

"It's not as if I expected an alchemist I'd never previously heard of to be _my_ contact, either," Selim retorted, irked. "Why is it so difficult to accept?"

"Because you're _you_. All this time, it was you! And you're _his_ son to boot! What are you, then, a rich, pampered, vigilante wannabe with too much time on his hands? What are you trying to prove?" The statement was meant to be mocking, but it came out more resentful than he had intended.

Jack blinked in shock. Despite not knowing Asher for very long, his outburst seemed a little out of character from what she'd seen so far. She couldn't read his expression behind his eyewear, but the Mustang saw his fists clench and his jaw tighten. He was angry. Jack briefly wondered why. What was so wrong with Selim being his contact- and a good one, it seemed- that he felt the need to lash out? Something didn't add up. She glanced at Selim, biting her lip in worry. She really hoped he wouldn't rise to the-

"I _beg_ your pardon?" the Bradley demanded coldly. Jack thought that Selim was probably the only person in the world who could make an ordinarily polite statement sound so threatening.

"Don't pretend to know me, Reed. I was led to believe that my investigations were being put to good use for the _country's_ sake," Selim continued, "Not for the personal gain of a vain, self-obsessed amateur to alchemy."

"Amateur?" Asher growled, "Why don't we take this outside, and we'll see who's the amateur?" Selim crossed his arms and went in for the kill.

"As if I would waste my time with an immature _half-breed_."

"You take that back, right now, coward," Asher ordered, his voice reduced to a snarl. Selim remained quiet, his eyes blazing in defiance.

"_Now_!" Asher hissed, beginning to rise from his seat. Jack's head swam. How had this spun out of control so thoroughly, so fast?

"Alright, you two, relax," she cut in sharply, channelling a little of her mother's severity as she did so. "We're all tired and at the end of our ropes, and tossing around accusations and insults is only going to make it worse. I don't care what or who you are; sit down, shut up, and eat your food. We'll find a place to stay, and take care of the rest in the morning. Understood?" Selim turned his intense, furious gaze on her, and her blood ran cold. She couldn't describe the feeling as anything other than an instinctual urge to run, to _get away_. She fought against it, but couldn't stop the blood rushing from her face, leaving her pale. For a long frightening moment, their gazes locked. Then his eyes softened, and he relented, sitting back moodily; too dignified to pout, but not above letting his irritation be known. Asher looked as if he were about to protest, but with an extra glare from the still-ashen Mustang, stayed silent. Kate just looked on, unconcerned, her chin resting on her fist, and grinning all the while.

"This is _so_ much better than writing exams back home," she announced.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A few hours later on the other side of town, a Mrs. Jacobson was quietly sweeping off the front steps of her little café, humming a soft tune. She was determined to finish cleaning up before retiring inside for the night; the thought of a warm cup of tea and reading the final chapter of her book fuelling her already aching limbs. The day had been demanding, with more customers than usual due to the train coming in late, and she was thankful she had time to relax before bed. The air outside was cool and temperate, the sky darkening to a midnight blue, as she swept by the light of her café window. The middle-aged woman huffed, and stood back to examine her handiwork. Running the café alone was hard, taxing, and sometimes far too stressful, but it was all she had left, after Mr. Jacobson passed away. Sure, having Jennie and Marcus around to help out made some things easier, but there was only so much employees could do, no matter how helpful they tried to be. Occasionally, she had considered selling the place when it became too much for her, but she had been thinking it over for three years and still hadn't put it up for sale.

Nodding to herself at a job well-done, she was about to close up shop, when she heard a rattle from the street behind her. She whipped around, holding her broom defensively across her chest.

"Who's there?" she demanded in the gruff way only middle-aged women could.

"Dahlia?" came a voice from the darkness. Mrs. Jacobson froze. _No_, she thought. _Impossible_.

"Who are you?" A shape took form as the person stepped closer. He was tall, with scruffy blonde hair cropped close to the skull, dazzling blue eyes, and graceful age lines that gave his face character and life. It was obvious he had enjoyed every minute of living to the fullest. In his hands was a white lily tied with a yellow ribbon.

A jolt of shock ran through her.

_Their first date, their wedding, their twentieth anniversary, her fortieth birthday, their fifth date, his hospital bed. _

Images flashed through her mind. The only things the disjointed memories had in common were his brilliant blue eyes and a proffered white lily with a yellow ribbon done up in a delicate bow. _My favourite flower… Our flower…_

"T… Thomas?" Her voice shook, whether from fear or incredulous rage, she wasn't sure. How dare- how _DARE-_ someone impersonate Thomas! She gritted her teeth, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

"This is cruel." Her words were wobbly. She fixed them. "Inhuman and _cruel_. Stop, right now!" she commanded, her voice becoming shrill.

"Dahlia! It's me! It's Thomas!" He held his hands out in surrender- lily and all- with his face scrunched up in that adorably confused way of his-

_No_!

"Dahlia?"

_Stop it, stop it_! She screamed in her mind. _Please_! It was too much.

Too much.

He took a step forward, and then another. She began to gasp for breath, and felt her knees go weak. She thought she was over this; she thought that she had accepted his death, and moved on! It had been four long, hard years, and she was determined to live her life, as he'd have wanted her to. But seeing him again, seeing his face and hearing is voice… It tore wounds open, deeper than the last, and left them to bleed.

"Dahlia!"

It wasn't him, _it_ _wasn't him_! It was a trick! Even if he looked the same…

_She had missed him so much._

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, his voice warm and concerned. "Are you alright? Are you ill?" Even his voice was the _same_.

The same.

Her hands shook. _No, no, no… _The rational part of her mind gave in.

She shattered.

"But…! You're dead!" she sobbed, "You died four years ago! How is… How are you…? I watched you die!"

"I did?" He seemed surprised. Then his entire countenance dropped, and he rolled his bright eyes. "_Again_? Just my luck. What _is_ it with people dying in this town? Famine? Pollution? Violence? Just plain old incompetence? I mean, really!" Dahlia Jacobson froze, her already broken mind scrambling to pick up the pieces. Who was this stranger inhabiting the place her husband had just been? Where had he gone…?

"Wha…?" she stuttered.

"Oh, right. I should probably do something about you, then," he mused, rubbing his chin in a completely alien gesture. _He never did that._

"Thomas, what…?" she began, too frightened to think. To frightened to _breathe_. He turned toward her, then, and an expression came over his face that nearly killed her then and there. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the street, staring up at him with uncomprehending brown eyes.

Monster. _Monster_. _MONSTER_.

"Thomas is dead, dear," he said benevolently. "Send him my regards, if you would."

The twisted, grotesque grin on her husband's kind face was the last thing she ever saw.

The next day, Marcus was the first to find her lying an a cold pool of her own blood, her face contorted into a look of horror, with trails of dried tears outlining her face.

In her hand was a single, bloodstained, white lily, tied with a yellow ribbon.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Asher blinked bleary eyes, and resisted the urge to collapse face-first into his scrambled eggs. He hadn't slept that badly since his reconnaissance days in Arugo, which, in effect, meant no sleep at all. Despite the animosity that hadn't gone away even after Jack had told them off, he and Selim were made to share a room to save on the bit of money provided to them by the Fuhrer. Needless to say, neither were willing to sleep in the other's presence, lest something unspeakable happen to them as soon their backs were turned. Stubborn to a fault, both had stayed up all night in the stifling hotel room, refusing to even speak to the other, but pretending to sleep nonetheless. Halfway through the night, the thought came to Asher that he was being ridiculous, but the earlier blow to his pride- and from a Bradley, no less- just perpetuated his stubbornness.

Asher was loath to admit, even to himself, that he had gone too far the night before, with his too-personal attack on the last living Bradley. Since he had first been introduced to Selim, Asher had been uneasy and irritable. What had the Fuhrer been thinking, putting an Ishvalan- albeit a half one- on the same recon team as a Bradley? In the same car, even? Just what was the old man up to? Nevertheless, stress and distrust began to build up with every minute Asher spent with Selim. Finally, the shock of Selim revealed as his longtime contact- a figure he had implicitly trusted, despite the mystery around him- pushed him over the edge. He had snapped at the Bradley like he hadn't in a long while, at the cost of his sleep, and a now strained atmosphere between them.

Would he ever again be able to rely on the information his contact- _Selim_- gave him? Wouldhe even _have_ a contact after this? Asher knew that he had only been given a tiny glimpse of the anger Selim was capable of. Conversely, what Asher himself had said was only the tip of the iceberg of what the alchemist was really thinking.

Grateful of his glasses to hide his red-rimmed eyes, Asher half-heartedly shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Food always seemed tasteless when one was running on less than half an hour of rest. A shortage of sleep was obvious in his appearance; Asher's normally meticulously spiked hair just looked messy, and his skin had an odd greenish pallor to it. The alchemist surreptitiously sneaked a glance at the silent young man across from him, inwardly fuming at the Bradley's only slightly dishevelled appearance. Despite getting the same amount of sleep Asher had, Selim looked the same as he had yesterday, with only very slight rings under his eyes that only made his already pale skin seem whiter.

Asher viciously skewered a strawberry.

"Alright!" Jack called cheerily from her seat nest to him, clapping her hands once. "Let's figure out the plan for today!" The alchemist nearly groaned out loud. She was far too chipper for so early in the morning. Kate, however, _did_ groan out loud.

"Ja-a-a-ck-ie!" she complained, her voice slurred by the remnants of sleep, "Why d'ya hav'ta be so _happy_? Is there any real reason I hav'ta be up at ridiculous in the mornin'?" Jack levelled her best friend with a flat look.

"It's _eight_, Kaitlin. Eight o'clock. I get up at five every day, as is usual in the military."

"Well yer family's crazy, Jackie," Kate grimaced, lowering her head to the table. "We mortals don't run on crazy. We run on sleep, coffee, and more sleep." Jack sighed, and turned to face Asher.

"Now, from what you've told me, Dad wants us to do some investigations into the rumours and people going missing; correct?"

"That's right." Asher nodded, straightening in his chair. Jack smiled faintly.

"Then we should probably start with the locals. As unreliable as the grapevine is, it's what we have to work with, for now. With any luck, we should have information on where to start-"

"Not to interrupt," Selim cut in, "But it may be necessary to make a detour. It has recently come to my attention that there was an unreported murder just a few weeks ago, on the west side of town. There was only one witness, and she refuses to speak to the military. Though she did say something about her dead brother coming back to life." All eyes except Kate's turned to him, their gazes questioning.

The Bradley smirked.

"I have _my_ sources, you have yours." Asher narrowed his bloodshot eyes. _That arrogant little_… The half-Ishvalan clenched his fist inside the pocket of his white coat. Jack may have diffused their earlier row, but he knew that their argument was far from over.

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_**A/N: I'll get the next chapter (which is half-written) up as soon as I can. Sorry not much happened, but transition chapters are important, in my opinion. Until next chapter, where the plot thickens!**_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: So sorry for taking so long! Again. I'm so happy you're all patient. Well, patient-ish. I've only had a **_**few**_** death threats. Huge, **_**huge**_** thanks to my reviewers, **_**Fyuro**_**, **_**thundaarwoman**_**, and **_**Aiko Marian**_**. I'm so thankful for you guys! You really do inspire me. And I also have a beta-reader, now! Big thanks to **_**Sapphires Frost.**_** I'm excited for my quality of writing to improve. So! Onto the much-awaited chapter. I really hope you all like it.**

**-InkRoze**

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"All of us have ways in which we mask and cover our pain."

- Iyanla Vanzant

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Selim resisted the urge to massage his temples as he followed Jack and Asher down the street, Kate sleepily trudging along at his heels. Ever since the incident with the train hijackers, his headaches had been growing increasingly worse, and the lack of sleep the night before did nothing at all to improve them. To top it all off, his bullet wound throbbed with every step he took. Selim gritted his teeth. _Just who does Reed think he is?_ the Bradley seethed. _Bringing my father of all people into this! I do not understand why he insists on starting a fight, and then acting put out when I strike back! _Frowning, Selim sighed, and put his hands in his pockets. Of course he understood _why_ Asher said what he did. But it did not give the alchemist the right to act like a petulant child. The half-Ishvalan hadn't even been _born _during the Massacre, and Selim himself barely knew his father. But the blow to his pride, as trivial as it may have seemed, coupled with his mounting headache and constant state of pain, had caused him to snap. Selim mentally winced a bit. _Poor Miss Mustang_. She was still a little hesitant to approach him, he had noticed, but that hadn't stopped her from greeting him with a friendly "Good morning!" when he sat down to eat.

He heard occasionally from the staff around his estate that his glares could "melt steel". When he was angry, his control lessened, and that dark part of his mind that he tried to keep hidden seeped past his mental barriers. More than once, he had been in the middle of an angry tirade when a particularly nasty seizure hit. His only challenge now, was keeping his temper in check while Asher openly criticised him. _The nerve_, he mentally growled. _But I'm doing this for the archives! All for the archives. I have a good feeling that what I discover there will pay off, especially after my last… episode. _He frowned, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Attempting to distract himself from his darkening thoughts, Selim turned his purple eyes to the town surrounding him. East City was a quaint sort of town, much like West City, but was much better maintained. The streets were clear, and the houses in good condition. The buildings were mostly brick and plaster, but the occasional wooden establishment between stone structures added character and interest. Ishvalan culture, as vibrant and artistic as its people, defiantly made its way into aspects of the town; incarnated as patterned rugs, various traditional facets of architecture, and odds and ends such as pottery and cuisine. Dust, brought by hot, gentle winds, coated everything in a fine layer of tan, washing out the otherwise vivid colours. The warm, stagnant air, unbearable in the middle of the day, had a mineral smell to it, and left a rough taste in the mouth.

"Hey, Bradley?" Selim blinked, and turned from the scenery to face Kate, who was walking with her hands behind her head and her eyes partially closed.

"Yes, Armstrong?" he asked, mimicking her casual address. The blonde pursed her lips and narrowed her visible eye at him.

"That information; about the murder? Where'd you get it?"

"I have my sources," he repeated with a small smirk.

"Sources, hmmn? You make it sound so mysterious, when they just use the phone like everyone else. Drama queen," she huffed.

Selim cast her a sideways glance, "Why would you think that?"

"Don't play cool with me, Vampire Boy. I saw you at the inn's phone this morning when I came down from my room, and I was awake enough to know it was you. Why didn't you just tell us straight? 'I received a phone call from my people; they say there was a murder.'" Kate exaggerated his calm, detached tone of voice. Then she grinned impishly, "Couldn't resist a little showmanship, eh?"

"I beg to differ," he sniffed. "And 'Vampire Boy'? You couldn't coin something with a little more… _finesse_?"

"Trust me, I'll work on it. I just couldn't resist a little barb at'cha. You're so uptight! With your 'Miss's and your 'Mister's. I'd say it was cute, but you're _so_ not my type."

"Yes, _thank you_, too much information," Selim interrupted, resisting the childish urge to cover his ears.

"Oh, loosen up. Don't let what Asher said get to ya. We have work to do! Murderers to catch! People to interrogate! Clues to find! We- ack!" Kate tripped over a cobblestone and managed to nearly splinter the unfortunate wooden post she used to catch herself. It cracked neatly in the middle, the two now-separate parts bent at a near thirty-degree angle. The blonde cursed under her breath, attempting to right both planks, but only made more of a mess of the thing. Selim was so occupied being amused, that he almost ran into the stationary Asher's back. Gracefully, he sidestepped the white-haired teenager and turned his attention to the scene in front of them.

Both Jack and Asher were focused on a large crowd of people, Jack on her tiptoes to attempt to see over their heads, and Asher observing the spectacle with his mouth set in a grim line. Kate finally gave up on the wooden post and unabashedly pushed her way to the front of the crowd, with Jack in tow. Both girls focused on what the crowd was gathered around. The Armstrong's mouth dropped open, and her visible eye widened.

"Bloody he-"

"Kate." Despite her warning, Jack couldn't help but agree.

A small squad of military officers dressed in uniform blues were attempting to keep the throng of people still and quiet, but were failing miserably, even with the help of yellow military tape that proclaimed, "DO NOT CROSS" in bold lettering. A few members of the meagre squad were crouched on the ground, around a white, bloodstained sheet obviously draped over a dead body. A hand poked out of the cover, coloured a delicate white, curled in a fist and clutching a wilted white flower tied with a yellow ribbon.

There was blood _everywhere_.

It pooled on the cobbles, on the steps of the shop, spattered across a once-cheerful sandwich board, and retreated in a line of footprints leaving the scene.

Kate scrunched up her nose, feeling more than a little queasy.

"I didn't know there could be that much blood in one person," she muttered, turning her eyes away from the gore and to the military men instead. She watched them examine the scene with their practised eyes. Two men, who Kate mentally pegged as forensics specialists, were crouched around the body, and had lifted up a corner of the sheet to examine it. Kate herself may have no idea what to look for in a crime scene, but logic required an examination of the murder victim- as gory and awful as it sounded to her- so there she would start. But right as she turned to find a way near the body, something- or someone- caught her eye. A young woman, blonde, with dull, sunken grey eyes and a too-pale complexion hovered around the edge of the crowd. Her arms were wrapped around herself in a defensive gesture, and her eyes kept flicking from the military men to the shop, her expression indecisive. Something about her held Kate's attention. Setting her jaw, the Armstrong slipped quietly into the crowd. Only Selim noticed her leave, and he carefully watched as she made her way toward the woman.

Asher surveyed the gruesome scene dispassionately. He had seen and investigated his fair share of grisly deaths, including some he had caused himself, when it had been necessary. He was by no means unaffected or uncaring; more along the lines of… _desensitised_. Something about this particular scene, however, made him take pause and examine what he could see. The killer, whoever he or she was, made no effort to hide. No effort to cover any evidence; almost as if he or she had committed murder on a whim, and could care less if anyone caught him or her.

_Is this related to what we're investigating?_ he briefly wondered. _Though a tangible, obvious murder is much different than simple urban myths._ Asher narrowed his eyes behind his dark goggles, and began to scan the present military squad for the resident State Alchemists. _Where are they?_ he wondered briefly. _This may not be an emergency, but they should still be here, especially with the supposed other murders going on around town._ Frowning, he turned his gaze to the crowd, searching through the faces for two in particular. He caught a glimpse of black hair in the crowd across from him, and glanced toward it, only to be met with a piercing, dark green stare. Asher stared back, and nodded once.

The man blinked in response, disappearing seamlessly into the crowd. Asher let out a quiet breath of exasperation. Of all State Alchemists to take up this particular region, and it had to be _them_. He was not looking forward to this at all; especially after he started poking around in _their _city. _In fact_, he mused, _I should demand extra pay for this. Don't you agree, Ishvala? It's only fair. Equivalent Exchange and all that, right?_

"Asher?" Shaken out of his thoughts, the State Alchemist calmly turned toward Jack, who was looking up at him strangely. Selim was also watching him, a calculating glint in his dark eyes. Asher tried to ignore him.

"Yes, Jack?"

"Are… are you alright?"

"Yes," he said shortly. Then, "Where's Kate?" Jack opened her mouth to answer, but shut it quickly when she noticed that her friend was nowhere to be seen. The girl sighed, and rubbed at her forehead with her palm.

"Ka-a-a-ate…." she growled. "What a time to run off!"

"Ah, I believe she's over there," Selim subtly pointed to a spot on the edges of the crowd, "By that blonde woman." Sure enough, Kate was conversing quietly with a pale woman, maybe in her late twenties, who seemed to be in a daze. Jack rolled her eyes and pushed a few taller people out of the way as she tromped over to her best friend. The frazzled young woman looked up as the Mustang approached, but Kate ignored her and kept talking. Jack could make out her words as she stepped closer.

"…Not with the Military, ya know," Kate stated calmly. "I'm no gossip, I'm not out looking for a story. I'm not even from around here! I only wanna know what happened. Why not tell me if I might be able to help?" she persisted. "I know people. Ya don't even have to talk to them. I promise not to mention you at all." The woman shifted on her feet, casting a glance toward the military men.

"But you're so young…" she muttered hesitantly. Kate twitched.

"I'm sixteen, lady. I promise I can handle it."

"Kate?" Jack interrupted, "What's going on?"

"This lady knows something," Kate answered. "She told me she doesn't want to talk to the military, so I'm trying to convince her to tell me what it is, but it's not working."

"You told her we're from out of town, right?" Jack hummed thoughtfully, "That might be your problem. People are less likely to trust strangers from outside the area than strangers inside it." The woman gave them both a tired, flat look.

"I'm standing right here, you know," she reminded the teenagers.

"You're going about it all wrong," came Asher's voice from behind them. Jack did a double take. He was smiling easily, his tone friendly, with his jacket undone and his goggles skewed sideways over his face to conceal only his mechanical eye, leaving his real one uncovered. The casual, lopsided look, coupled with his equally lopsided smile, lent him an odd sort of rogueish charm. Both Kate and Jack stared at the sudden transformation. What in the world had happened to the taciturn alchemist with an obsession for professionalism? It was as if he were an entirely different person.

"Hello," Asher greeted, holding out a hand for the woman to shake, which she did. "I'm called Asher. These are my colleagues, Jack and Kate," he pointed at each girl respectively, "And you are?" The young woman looked up at him, tears of frustration and fear still gathered at the corners of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Jennie. Jennie Wagner," she sniffled. "I work at this shop. Dahlia… Dahlia was my boss."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wagner." Jack blinked. _What? She's talking! How did he _do_ that?_

"He's attempting the 'charm and disarm' technique, as they call it in the espionage circles," Selim whispered by her ear. Jack jerked, surprised. She hadn't even noticed him come to stand next to her. She turned her head to see him smirking, and huffed.

"Even though Reed himself isn't the most savoury of characters, with the proper application, the method is very effective, I'm afraid," he finished. Asher continued speaking, oblivious.

"If you do know anything that could help catch the criminal," Jack noticed Asher's careful avoidance of using the word "murderer", "You could save other people's lives. I understand if you don't want to talk to the military- too much fuss, too much paperwork, too many rumours- but if you tell us, we can relay the information on your behalf, and no one will be the wiser."

"That's what I was _saying_!" Kate whined. She was ignored. The grey-eyed woman hesitated, and looked up at Asher for a few long moments.

"I… I saw the man who k… who k-killed her," she whispered, finally. "I was leaving the shop- I came in through the back to get a coat I left- and he… he came out of nowhere, with a flower, like he always used to. Neither of them noticed I was there. I didn't want to… interrupt, you know? In case it really was him. So I hid behind the counter. I wasn't really sure what was going on, and it happened so fast-!" Hysteria tinged the edges of her voice. Jennie noticed, and cut herself off, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Asher soothed, keeping his reassuring smile. "Did you recognise him? You don't have to answer if you don't wan-"

"He was her husband, but… he wasn't," Jennie interrupted softly.

"What do you mean?" Selim asked, his mind trying to connect the dots. The woman choked back a sob, and the story proceeded to tumble out of her, as if floodgates had been broken.

"He looked like him. Sounded like him; he had the flower and _everything_. I… I was hiding, so I missed a lot of what went on, but when I eventually decided to look, Dahlia was on her knees, and he… he…" she swallowed thickly, her eyes hard and determined. "He ran her through. Some sort of really long blade. It was pretty dark, so I couldn't get a good look. The blood… the blood was everywhere. I wasn't sure what to do! Someone was just murdered, and he was _impossible_, and he… changed. Somehow, he was different, and he looked at me. _Right at me_, and he grinned and it was horrible! I was terrified, so I ran… I ran." Her voice was a barely audible rasp. Asher maintained his open, compassionate façade, but inwardly, he couldn't help a dark feeling of satisfaction. She had _wanted _to tell her story, and with just a little harmless, positive manipulation, she opened up to complete strangers. He had Arugo, again, to thank for his interrogation skills. Then something Jennie had said during her near-hysterics prodded at his mind.

"Why would he be impossible?" he asked. Jennie's dull grey eyes stared hard into Asher's vivid red.

"Her husband died four and a half years ago," she stated simply. "He burned to death."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Viktor Morozov had been an uncomplicated man, and content to be so.

He'd liked the constant Drachman winter, with its harsh whites and greys. He'd liked rice and meat and potatoes. He had never lied, but, instead, spoke only the truth with brutal honesty. He'd followed a strict routine- every day- and never deviated from it. He had been satisfied to be alone with his thoughts, and never sought any entertainment outside of his heavy, leather-bound histories. He used to live by himself, during the early years of his life, and never bothered to make many friends or lasting relationships. Then, in his mid-thirties, he had met Chavaleh, and his life had changed.

She had been beautiful, and built daintily, like a faerie. She'd had the darkest eyes he had ever seen, and short, close-cropped chestnut hair. She had been nearly as straightforward as he, only she with more fire; more spunk. She had never been afraid to tell someone she didn't like them, and always spoke her mind. It took him two weeks to anger her enough to literally punch him in the face, three months for them to fall in love, and only a year and a half for them to be married. They had one little boy, whom he named Mikhail after his father. Then the war with Amestris had come, and he had been drafted into the Drachman army, along with Chavaleh's father, brother, and cousin. He'd had no family to speak of- none that were alive, at any rate- and strove to protect his wife's, instead. On the battlefield bordering Amestris, in the snowy mountain pass before Briggs, he had chosen to take a bullet aimed for her brother. His only regret being that he hadn't held Chavaleh and his son in his arms once more and told them he loved them. He went down just another soldier, just another casualty in a pointless, one-sided battle, and bled out slowly onto the crimson-tainted snow as his fellow soldiers- even Chavaleh's brother- fell around him. He was dead, then; the most uncomplicated state possible.

Viktor Morozov _had_ been an uncomplicated man.

Until, almost twenty years after his death, he opened his eyes.

And breathed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So, lemme get this straight: a guy who looked exactly like Dahlia's dead husband, even sounded like him- _but wasn't him_- stuck her with a knife? How does that make any sense?"

"Kate, a little tact would be sensible, please," Selim admonished. "And murder rarely makes sense." The Armstrong rolled her eyes.

"Would you mind giving me a description of the man?" Asher asked genially. Kate shot him a strange look. She was beginning to feel a little unnerved by the "friendly" thing he had going on. Sure, he was charming, and maybe if she weren't so turned off by his attitude in general, she might have been interested, but this sudden pretence of his; it was unsettling. It just wasn't _him_. Or, at least, the "him" she had been getting to know. But maybe this _was_ the real him? Maybe his aloofness was just a mask of insecurities. Kate figured she'd probably never know, and resigned herself to it. She didn't really care all that much, to begin with.

"A description? Let me think for a second," Jennie hummed. "Well, at first, he had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was in his mid-forties. Maybe six feet tall?" she concluded, her face slightly scrunched up in thought.

"You said he changed; what did you mean by that?" Asher inquired, his smile still focused on the blonde woman. Jennie froze.

"He… just… _changed_. I'm not crazy, I swear! It really happened!" Selim frowned, his headache increasing slightly. Something smoky and intangible in the back of his mind stirred at her words, and the throbbing in his temples only intensified as she continued to speak. _Her high-pitched voice is terribly grating on the ears_, he thought waspishly.

"I believe you," Asher reassured the woman. Jennie took a breath to calm herself.

"Alright. But remember that I couldn't see very well; it was dark. One second, Mr. Jacobson was standing there, covered in Dahlia's blood, and the next, there was someone else. He was shorter and smaller. Less muscular. He was pale. Far too pale to be healthy." As she said this, she glanced at Selim, who paid her no attention. His headache was beginning to irritate him.

"Whoever it was had long, dark hair-"

… _A flash of green_ …

"-it was a little stringy, and spiked at the ends-"

… _that _laugh_; grating, screeching, sick, awful, cruel_ …

"-and their grin… It was… _terrible_-"

… _a_ _raspy voice, mocking, hiding, defending, reflecting, instigating_ …

"-but their eyes were the worst-"

… "_You're always looking down on me! I've had enough of you!" …_

"-they were feline, and _soulless_. I… I was so scared!" Selim bit back a snarl as he felt small tremors begin to tug at his limbs. _No, not now! I don't need an episode now, of all times!_

… _the weakness, the obsession, the cowardice, the ruthless torment of those weaker than he. All __**He**__ could manage to feel toward him was disgust and contempt …_

Selim pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to leave a mark, his free hand curled in a white-knuckled fist.

_Shut up_, he demanded, _Shut up!_

"Selim?" The Bradley blinked, torn from the maelstrom of images and glanced down at Jack, who was giving him a concerned look.

"Are… are you alright? You look a little… well, paler than usual," she joked weakly. He gave her a thin smile.

"I'm alright, Miss Jacqueline. I'm fine."

Because he _was_. He was fine.

Just fine.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I have nothing to say for myself. I've been occupied for far too long, buried in mountains of coursework. Even with my busy life, I've missed **_**Aftermath**_** like you wouldn't believe! So, thanks to many kind reviewers, I've found the inspiration to keep going. An inexpressible amount of thanks **_**to thundaarwoman, The Bargeman's Wife**_**, **_**Tantei-kun 7312**_**, **_**Energetic red**_**, **_**Kurostuki002**_**, **_**Penelope Jadewing**_**, **_**smylealong**_**, and**_** Sapphires Frost**_**. I owe you guys this chapter, and, frankly, the rest of the story. So thankful for you, and for all my quiet shadow-readers (I know you're out there!). I have the next chapter in the works-about halfway finished-and I hope to have it polished and up, soon.**

**Please, please enjoy!**

**~ InkRoze**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or the associated characters, but I do own my OCs.**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Previously:

"_Whoever it was had long, dark hair-"_

… A flash of green …

"_-it was a little stringy, and spiked at the ends-"_

… that laugh; grating, screeching, sick, awful, cruel …

"-and their grin… It was… terrible-"

… a raspy voice, mocking, hiding, defending, reflecting, instigating …

"_-but their eyes were the worst-"_

… "You're always looking down on me! I've had enough of you!" …

"_-they were feline, and soulless. I… I was so scared!" Selim bit back a snarl as he felt small tremors begin to tug at his limbs. No, not now! I don't need an episode now, of all times!_

… the weakness, the obsession, the cowardice, the ruthless torment of those weaker than he. All **He** could manage to feel toward him was disgust and contempt …

_Selim pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to leave a mark, his free hand curled in a white-knuckled fist._

Shut up_, he demanded_, Shut up!

"_Selim?" The Bradley blinked, torn from the maelstrom of images and glanced down at Jack, who was giving him a concerned look._

"_Are… are you alright? You look a little… well, paler than usual," she joked weakly. He gave her a thin smile._

"_I'm alright, Miss Jacqueline. I'm fine." _

_Because he was. He was fine._

_Just fine._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Unbeing dead isn't being alive."

- E. E. Cummings

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

His first thought was of the snow that fell gently against his face, only to gather in frosty masses that rested in piles on his cheeks and coalesced in the pockets around his eyes. He was cold. Unbearably so. It had somehow seeped into his bones, into his blood, into his very _being_. He was numb, in the purest sense of the word. Frozen.

Lifeless.

Yet, he breathed. He could feel it. His chest rose and fell, his sides brushing against something rough every time he inhaled. He opened his eyes and blinked twice. The world was white. Only white. Blinding. Icy. _Numb_.

Something was wrong.

But he couldn't remember what it was. It nagged at the back of his still-sluggish mind, tugging, pulling, warning. He heaved a sigh. He knew he should stand- look around- but something held him back. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It was instinctive, and pressed insistently at his senses.

Ah. There it was.

No heartbeat.

None at all. He had never realised- or, at least he _thought_ he hadn't- just how much difference a heartbeat made. How mundane, and natural, and _alive_.

Alive.

His thoughts stalled at this new revelation, and if his heart were beating, it would have seized up at the shock.

He was dead.

Or had been dead. Was _supposed_ to be dead. At least, he thought so. He couldn't quite… He couldn't remember…

Blood. Snow. Noise. Black.

Pain.

"_Well. _You're_ taking your sweet time waking up."_

He breathed in sharply, unable to move his limbs, even in a knee-jerk reaction. There was a voice. A _voice_, in his _head_. Neither male nor female. It simply _was_. He opened his mouth to cry, to shout, to scream, but nothing came out. He gasped, and coughed, before swallowing thickly.

"_Who are you?"_ he demanded mentally._ "Get out. _Get. Out_."_

"_There's no need to be so rude,"_ came the defensive retort. The mental impression- something akin to a dream or distant memory- of an offended sniff appeared in his mind.

_Intruder. Foreign. Get out. GET OUT!_ his mind screamed at him in warning.

Instead, he replied with a forceful,_ "Where am I?"_

"_Drachma, last I checked. Lovely place, if not a bit harsh, with the cold, the wars, and the poverty. Beautiful scenery, though."_

"_Drach… ma?"_

"_Mmm, you don't remember? I suppose it would be a bit of a shock, getting reacquainted."_

"_Reacquainted?"_

"_With life. With yourself. So how does it feel, coming back from the dead? Are your toes all in order? Kidneys working fine? Your mental capacity seems to have suffered from the rather unfortunate disappointment that is death. Lungs? Check. Heartbeat…? Not so check, but you can't win everything, can you? You seem to be in better shape than the last few, anyway. Coherence, even! Well, more or less. Well? Don't keep me waiting. How do you feel, then?"_ He coughed again, and gritted his teeth, determined to speak.

"St-str… ange," he managed. He sounded rough and unused, like rusted doors and grating cogs, but his tone was deep and his words clear. "Emp- Empty. Wrong_." _He wheezed, out of breath, but still proud of his accomplishment. He had a voice. He could speak, think, argue, breathe, and struggle. He was still human.

"_Well, more or less human_," the voice poked, amused. "_You definitely _were_ human_." He wished the voice would stop, but it only sighed, and continued, regardless.

"_In regards to how you feel, I was hoping for something more original; but I can see that you're not much of a talker. How dull for me. Well, we'll compare notes on resurrection and the consequences thereof later. For now, you need to stand."_

"_Why?"_

"_There are men coming. The blonde men. Amestrians. You remember them, don't you?"_

"_I don't know wh-"_ A memory stirred. Yes, he did know them. Pain flared behind his eyes, and he clamped them shut.

"_We don't want them to find you. Especially with the way you look, right now."_

"_The way I…?"_

"_They'll panic. Run for the hills. Faint, cry, scream, who knows? Hmm… maybe you _should_ let them see you. It would be terribly entertaining, at least_." The voice paused, then commanded, _"Sit up." _Cautiously, painfully, he shifted his arms and, with a monumental effort, pushed himself to a sitting position.

His head swam.

As his vision cleared- although still a little blurry at the edges- he took in the scene around him. The predominant colour was white, something somehow familiar and comforting, but veins of black in the form of mountains snaked across the horizon, and an almost searing blue sky stretched out above him. He was resting on an outcropping of a mountain, a small trail winding around the rock face from his position. He followed the trail with his eyes, until it curved around the side of the cliff and disappeared from view. From what he could gather, he seemed to be half-buried in deep snow, as the lip of the small crater he rested in was at his shoulder level while sitting. He could hear the mournful howl of mountain wind, and he closed his eyes for a second to listen intently. The wind carried something faint; a quiet crunching noise, followed by muffled conversation. It was growing louder. Gritting his teeth, he managed to drag himself onto his knees and then over the side of the hole, his muscles screaming. He lay on his back, breathing heavily.

He felt ancient. Rusted. Forgotten.

He should have been left in peace.

Wincing, he carefully sat up again and glanced down at himself. The gray, sturdy cloth of a uniform met his eyes, and two rusted, metal insignias pinned to his chest glinted in the bright sun. His uniform was spattered with dried blood and what looked like stains from long-dissolved gunpowder. But what struck him the most was the ragged, blood-soaked hole in the shirt of his uniform, just over his heart. A bullet hole. Gingerly, he raised a finger to the tear, and gasped involuntarily. There was a hole in his _skin_. A wound. But no pain. Just numbness. His breath came quicker. He wasn't sure he could handle this. He _couldn't_ handle this. Why him? Of all people? Of all corpses?

Corpses…

That's right. He was dead.

"_I didn't dig you out of the snow, if that's what you're wondering_," the voice stated blandly, interrupting his near panic. "_An avalanche uncovered your body, and ended up dumping you here when your corpse was caught in it. I just found you there, dead, but perfectly preserved in the ice. It's actually quite a common occurrence in these mountains, due to a battle fought here some years ago. Very fortunate for me, really. Now, get moving!"_

"_You found me? How? Why can't I see you?_" he demanded.

"_Is that really important right now? They're coming!"_ Putting aside his shock for the moment, he glanced up. It was too late. There were already here. A small squad of soldiers- some wearing masks, and some bare-headed- rounded the corner, and something primal rose up in him as he took in their light hair and pristine white uniforms. Amestrians. He knew that word. He knew what they were. Hatred pulled at his brain, and obscured his vision. Memories- hazy, blurry, and painful- flared vividly behind his eyes.

Dead. He… he was dead. He… his brother… was dead. No, not _his _brother… his brother in _law_. He was dead, and they left her alone.

They left her _alone_.

Something foreign and euphoric and sadistic pushed and shoved at his mind, followed by a echoing, manic laughter.

"_Go ahead,_" the voice in his head pressed, "_They deserve it. They're the reason she's alone!_"

He snapped.

By then, the small squad of Amestrians had noticed him, and were trudging toward him warily.

"Hey! You! Are you alright?" one of them called- a woman, from the sound of her voice- when she noticed the blood staining his clothes. He didn't answer. Instead, he jerked to his feet, swaying alarmingly as he fought to keep his balance. The squad tensed up, chilled fingers gripping their weapons tightly. Something was off with this man. Then the woman recognised his- albeit outdated- uniform, and her expression hardened behind her mask.

"He's Drachman," she warned, turning slightly to face her squad. "He could be armed, but he appears to be injured. I'm going to approach him. Be aler-" With a fierce shove to her side, she was suddenly met with open air, her eyes wide as she plummeted from the cliff face, vanishing into the mist with not even a scream. The other squad members looked on in horror, momentarily stunned by the sudden loss of their leader. By the time they registered what was happening, two more men were thrown over the side of the cliff. The remaining three lurched into frantic action. They may have been deprived of their leader, but they were military. They were trained for such situations. They squared off against the man in Drachman uniform, their guns raised to eye level.

"Stop, now," one ordered. "Stop, or we'll shoot to kill."

He ignored the demand and took a step forward.

"I said stop!"

Another step. The squad set their jaws, and fired as one. He took every bullet, the multiple impacts slinging him backward several feet. His heels brushed the edge of the cliff, but he didn't fall. He didn't bleed. The Amestrians' eyes widened impossibly as he began to move again, completely unbothered by the multiple gaping wounds in his skin. Almost immediately, the wounds sealed up- knitted back together- as if they had never been there; save for the one, large bullet hole in his chest, just over his heart. Panicked, the men hastily backed up, but it was too late.

He loomed over them.

Screams and gunshots and a delighted, mad laughter echoed across the mountain range, carried by the fierce north wind. Or maybe it was just in his head.

"_Oh, you'll do!_" the voice cackled. "_You'll do just fine!_"

Then everything was quiet. Blood stained the snow a stark red, and a similar, though hazy image made itself clear in his mind. Of like-stained uniforms a steely grey. He stood over the bodies of the Amestrian men, his face impassive. The snow would cover them, soon. Preserve them in ice, as he had been.

He felt nothing.

No remorse, no anguish, no shame, no guilt.

Nothing at all.

Just the _cold._

He stared dispassionately at his bloodstained hands.

_What had happened to him?_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So now we have two murders on our hands," Jack muttered to Selim as she paced. Kate and Asher had gone out to get some food-after drawing the metaphorical short straws- leaving the two at the hotel to think over their case. What little of a case they had. Jack was wearing a trail into the carpet of the girls' room with her agitated steps, while Selim sat quietly on a bed, lost in thought, not to mention incredibly tired.

"Well, two_ unconfirmed_ murders," Jack continued. "The unreported one with that girl-whom we're still waiting on information from, you said-and now Mrs. Jacobson's murder. Both possibly related to our original objective, because of the rumors surrounding them of dead people coming back to life. Sort of two murders, and no basis. We have no motive, no evidence, and no real place to even _begin_ looking, since the military here is woefully incompetent and already contaminated the crime scene." The Mustang paused in her pacing to tug at a lock of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. "Argh! Who knows how many more people will be killed before we even get anywhere? This was just supposed to be a recon mission! Should we even _bother_ getting involved? Shouldn't we just sit back and watch? That's what we're here for, right? Why would my father even put us up to this, if there were any danger of being involved in something el… se…? Selim?" Selim didn't respond. Jack turned to face him, her eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. The least he could do was commiserate with her. Her dark look faded into one of concern as she took in Selim's blank expression. He was miles away.

"Selim?" she called tentatively. "Are you alright?" The Bradley jerked a little, and seemed to shake himself out of his stupor.

"Yes, yes, I apologise," he muttered, his eyes still trained on the bedspread. "You were saying?" Jack frowned, and turned to stand in front of him.

"Selim." He looked up. Her eyes barely passed his line of sight while he was sitting, and he had to resist a small smirk or a jab at her height. Now wasn't really the time.

"What's wrong?" she questioned. "You've been acting a little weird all day. Look, I know you're not really familiar with Kate or me-I'm not naïve enough to think that we're suddenly friends after a few days and a hijacking incident-and I know you and Asher don't get along, much, but we're a team, now. It's going to be hard to trust each other and build that trust if we can't talk, at least a little." Selim was quiet, studying her charcoal eyes with an unreadable expression.

Jack back-pedaled, "I mean, you don't have to tell me if it's personal, or anything; I just want to make sure you're alrigh-"

"I didn't sleep well," he interrupted. Jack blinked.

"You didn't… sleep well?"

"Please," Selim scoffed. "With that Ishvalan in the room? It's nearly impossible to feel tired when someone my subconscious perceives as an enemy is nearby. That's basic natural instinct." He paused. "In addition, when Reed did manage to get sleep, he snored. Loudly." His last statement, delivered with a flat expression and dead seriousness, made Jack chuckle. Selim raised a bemused eyebrow.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she laughed, and took a breath, still grinning. "Is that all? I mean, I'm sorry you didn't sleep well, but I was a little worried." Her smile faded a little. "You kept looking pained, and a little too pale today. Not to mention the staring off into space… I was afraid your wound was bothering you, or had maybe torn open. How is it, anyway?"

"Much better, today, thank you. I heal relatively quickly."

"Oh, good. One less thing to be concerned about," Jack sighed, rubbing at her temples.

Selim gave her a rare, small smile, "You certainly worry too much. Not just about us, but also about our… _mission_." Jack scratched the back of her head sheepishly, and sat down on the bed beside him, her shoulders hunched forward.

"Of course I worry about you! You were _shot_! But…" she shifted uncomfortably, "to be completely honest with you, I just don't want to disappoint my dad. Only, I don't know where to start! Sure, I've had training in dealing with situations and missions, but Asher has far more experience than I do. This is my first time outside of Central, and Dad gave me this mission personally. I want to impress him."

"Your first time outside?" Selim asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Jack nodded miserably.

"I don't get out much," she joked disparagingly. Selim thought that maybe she had understated things a bit. Being a homebody himself, he didn't often go out; but he had at least ventured out of Central multiple times. He had even been to Creta for three weeks with his mother, and had fallen in love with the culture.

"I just…" Jack began. "I just want this mission to go well. I want it to be successful. I want us to get along, and maybe… Maybe if we make a good team, we can work together in the future; even if Asher prefers being alone. I know I'd like that. Kate certainly would, considering she's not supposed to be here in the first place," she muttered with no small amount of fondness. "I think… seeing my dad disappointed in me would be the absolute worst possible outcome."

"It won't come to that," Selim assured quietly. Jack blinked.

"How are you so sure?" He was about to open his mouth to reiterate, when the door slammed open.

"We're ba-a-ack!" Kate sang, flouncing into the room with her arms full of three paper bags of groceries. Asher soon followed after her, only carrying one small bag.

"Such a gentleman," Selim prodded, thankful for the interruption. Their conversation had begun to take a personal turn that he wanted to avoid.

"She insisted," Asher defended. "And if she's determined to rub the fact that she's 'at least ten times stronger than me' in my nose, then she can afford to carry a few measly grocery bags."

"Truth hurts, Ash!" Kate huffed, placing her bags on the floor next to Jack and then throwing herself face-up onto Asher's bed, where she bounced happily a few times.

"So what's our plan for the rest of today?" Asher asked of no one in particular. All eyes turned to Jack.

"What?" the Mustang defended, crossing her arms.

"Face it, Jack; _you're_ the one in charge, here," Kate stated. "And I'm much more comfortable with you at the reins, than either of these two."

"But…" Jack shot a look to Selim out of the corner of her eye, who raised an eyebrow in turn. "But wouldn't Asher be a better choice as leader? He has more experience. He's done missions like this bef-"

"Yes, I _would_ be a better choice," Asher cut in. The corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. "But I'm a loner. I don't work well with teams; never have." He turned to pick up the grocery bags Kate had dropped. Before Jack could protest, the half-Ishvalan spoke again, "Besides. I think you'll do just fine." Jack's mouth shut. She looked around to find Kate grinning at her. Selim gave her a nod. With a quiet gulp, Jack took a breath and determinedly lifted her chin.

"Alright."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


End file.
